Murder in the Shadows
by ShadowPirate
Summary: Finished! After a mysterious murder occurs, who better to take the job then Sherlock Holmes? But this time, he and Watson are going to need a little help...whether they want it or not...
1. The Murder

A/N: This is my first Sherlock fanfic so my writing might not be as refined as some...yet anyways. I'll try to write a decent story for you, please don't be too harsh in your reviews...thank you. Have a nice day and enjoy your flight.  
  
***In the streets of downtown London, 1885***  
  
A young boy sauntered down a small alleyway off of the main road, hands dug deep in his pockets to protect them from the freezing cold air that was blowing through the uncovered walkway and turning his nose pink. It was an early February afternoon but for Jonathan, it didn't really matter. He stalked up to a run-down building at the end of the alley and rapped loudly on the heavy wooden door. From inside he heard a small crashing noise and hurried footsteps and the door creaked open. An old women with a wrinkled and worn face peeked out from inside, "What do you want?"  
  
"It's Jon, Mrs. Wyser, let me in, I'm freezing my ass off..."  
  
The women grumbled something and opened the door just wide enough so Jon could squeeze through, "Why didn't you use your key you stupid boy? You nearly gave me a heart attack, you did, knocking on the door like that..."  
  
"Well excuse me for forgetting my key in my room!"  
  
"I certainly won't! Now where's your rent? You haven't paid it for nearly three weeks now, and I'm getting tired of letting you stay here for nothing."  
  
The boy rolled his eyes and walked past the old lady towards a rickety flight of stairs, "I'll give it to you soon! Next week, I promise..."  
  
"That's what you said last week boy!" Jon continued turned and started to walk upstairs, "Don't ignore me boy, I'm not finished with you yet!"  
  
"Well I'm finished with you...You can yell at me tonight, I'm too tired right now...I'm going to bed..." The women turned around in a huff and walked over to an under-stuffed armchair by the dying fire and continued to read from an old, torn book. Jon turned to make sure that she was sitting before opening the door to his own room and locked it behind him after he stepped inside.  
  
He yanked off his jacket and threw it in a dust-covered corner along with the rest of his clothes and flopped down on his mattress to see if he would be able to sleep for once. He was fifteen years old and already tired of living. Of course, most boys his age wouldn't be doing half the things that he was faced with, like going to a eight hour, low paying job at the London docks or paying for their own food and board, but he was used to it. Jon rolled over, trying to ignore the strong smell of pipe smoke and mildew that hovered around his room, his thoughts drifting back, as they often did to his old life.  
  
He hadn't always lived this, although he had trouble remembering what his other life had felt like. His father had been someone important, he remembered that much. He had a lot of money, though he never told Jon where he got it from, and a lot of possessions. What Jon remembered the most was all the books that his father had owned, a whole room full of them, and Jon would spend hours upon hours reading them.  
  
Jon sighed and sat up. It was no use in thinking about such things. They were in the past now and there was nothing he could do to bring it back, at the moment anyway. Sometimes, he thought about ways to become rich again, and he drew up plans to help him reach that goal. They would've worked too, he was just too afraid to try them out.  
  
He rubbed his eyes and walked over to his window...actually it was a hole in the wall with a piece of thin fabric covering it, and looked out onto the desolate city that he preferred to call his home. There was smoke rising from the chimeny next door and he watched it float through the winter air like a cat watching a bird, wishing for the hundredth time that he could be like the smoke and just float away with the wind. He stood back up and shook his head, reminding himself for the second time that day that to think of such things was folly.  
  
Upset with himself for being so naive, he stormed out of his room, remembering to grab his coat on the way out. As he plotted down the stairs, Mrs. Wyser turned her head to glare at him with her small beady eyes, "Where are you going?"  
  
"Out..."  
  
"Well don't forget to take your key with you this time!"  
  
"I didn't." He stopped outside and slammed the door behind him, hoping that he actually did forget his key so he could have another chance at giving Mrs. Wyser another heart attack when he got back home. He ran his fingers through his windblown brown hair and began to wander back down the alley, his boots leaving prints on the frost-covered cobblestone in his wake.  
  
He walked out onto the main road and gazed around as he passed more apartments and run-down houses, beggars, and bars. He spotted a police man on the corner and headed over to the other side of the street so he wouldn't have to pass by him, not that he was a wanted man or anything, but his criminal record wasn't exactly clean. Sometimes he felt like he couldn't help doing bad or illegal things though, it was just who he was really, something that he had grown up with.  
  
As he walked through the poor neighborhood into the richer one, he noticed immediately the change in the atmosphere. The air was no longer laden with smoke and the streets weren't piled with trash and grime. Ironically though, there were more police officers, and there were actually streetlights to light your way instead of fires made by the homeless. Jon heaved a sigh but stopped in his path as he chanced a glance down one of the first alleyways. As he stood rooted to the spot, he watched as two men fought in the shadows of the buildings around them. Finally, the larger man punched the other in the face, there was a sickening cracking noise and the smaller man slumped to the ground, fresh blood spilling from his nose and mouth onto the ground.  
  
In a panic, Jon jumped inside of a trash bin that was along the side of a store on the main road, and watched with curiosity more than anything else as the bigger man gaped at the man on the ground, squatted down next to him to grab something that was in the other man's hand, then tore out of the alley and back down the street towards the poor neighborhood. After making sure the coast was completely clear, Jon hopped out of the barrel and walked slowly over to the other man on the ground.  
  
He looked to be in his forties and by the scarf around his neck and the nice coat and hat he was wearing, part of the higher class. Jon put a finger to the man's neck to check for a pulse, but there was none. He frowned and stood back up. He had seen men fight and men die before, but something about this murder seemed odd to him, though he didn't quite know why. The dead man looked familiar somehow and Jon racked his mind, feeling that he should be able to recognize the man.  
  
Jon kneeled down and stuck his hand into the man's coat pockets, hoping to find either some kind of identification or something that would help to pay his rent, but instead pulled out an opened letter. It was addressed to a Sir Henry Cullington, but was missing an address or a date. Jon stared at it for a moment before sticking it into his own pocket and standing back up.  
  
He was about to turn around and leave when he heard a shout from the street and pounding footsteps headed his way towards the alley. Jon swore under his breath and spun around, looking desperately for a place to hide or an escape route but found none. This was not good...  
  
A policeman rounded the corner of the building and stopped dead, observing the scene in front of him with silent severity before walking up to Jon with his baton drawn, "Boy! What is going on here!"  
  
Jon dug deep into his brain to come up with an excuse, any excuse for being found standing next to a dead man, "Well, you see...sir...I heard a noise and decided to see what the matter was, so I came in here and found this man dead."  
  
The policeman looked surprised, "Good god! The man is dead? Who is he?"  
  
"Um...Sir Henry Cullington?"  
  
"What? What was Cullington doin' down here at this time of the night?"  
  
"I am not sure, sir, but I'm sure that you will be able to figure it out. Now, if you don't mind, I have business to attend to elsewhere..."  
  
"Not so fast boy. I am going to have to take you in."  
  
Jon's mind panicked, "What?! I didn't do anything!"  
  
"Unless you can prove it, I'm going to have to consider you to be a suspect and witness of the crime and take you in to be questioned."  
  
Jon relaxed. He was only being taken in for questioning? That wasn't a problem, "Oh...All right."  
  
The policeman nodded briskly and after taking one more look at Cullington stood up and led Jon out of the alley towards Scotland Yard.  
  
A/N: Please Review and tell me what you think so far. I know that I haven't brought Holmes or Watson into play yet, but they're a comin'! 


	2. Questions and answers

A/N: Thank you very much March Hare for the pleasant review, it is much appreciated, as is the encouragement...  
  
***In Scotland Yard***  
  
The policeman sat Jon down in a stiff-backed wooden chair, "Wait here. I need to inform my superiors of the situation..."  
  
Jon nodded and occupied himself for the next few minutes by taking Cullington's letter out of his pocket and looking it over, discreetly of course so no one else was able to see it. It read, "You have broken your word. You are no longer needed." It was signed "J.S.". Jon raised his eyebrows at the last statement. Obviously, if you were not needed in whatever group Cullington was a part of you were disposable.  
  
Just then the policeman that had brought him there and another man who he had never seen before walked into the small room in which he was sitting. Jon quickly stuffed the letter back into his pocket and turned to face them. The new officer nodded, "I hear you witnessed a murder. My name is Lestrade and I have a few questions to ask you..."  
  
Jon folded his hands onto his lap and looked up at the man, "Ask away."  
  
"Very well. Can you tell me exactly what you saw today?"  
  
"I can try..." Jon thought for a moment, thinking over the story in his head to try and remember all the details, "I was walking down the street when I heard a strange noise in the alley next to me. I turned to look and saw two men that I had never seen before fighting. I hid in a near- by trash bin so they wouldn't see me and watched as a large man pounded this Cullington fellow and punched him in the face. There was a crack, like the sound of breaking bones and Cullington fell to the ground. The large man bent down and took something from Cullington then ran. I went over to investigate, found that Cullington was dead, and that is when that guy found me."  
  
"I see...Can you describe to me what the large man looked like?" Lestrade had taken a pad of paper out and was scribbling notes down onto it as Jon spoke.  
  
"Well I suppose I could. He was large, as I said...at least 6 feet tall, maybe 6'2"...he had black hair, a muscular build, he was clean- shaven, and I believe that he was wearing a brown overcoat."  
  
The detective nodded, "Very good...And what is your name?"  
  
"My name? Well...It's um..." Jon stuttered and grasped for the right words "It's Jonathan."  
  
"Do you have a last name Jonathan?"  
  
"Well, erm...I never use it..." That was the truth. He never did use his last name, mostly because the last time he did around a policeman they had wanted to take him to jail on the spot. He wasn't quite sure why his name caused that kind of reaction, but he was sure that he didn't want to tell this Lestrade.  
  
The detective narrowed his eyes for a moment, "All right. But we are going to have to keep you overnight just so we can question you some more if need be."  
  
Jon raised his hand, "Um, detective?" Lestrade turned around, "I was just wondering if you could tell me who this Cullington fellow is?"  
  
"Sorry Jonathan, but on this kind of a case everything is on a need to know basis...we can't tell you until you need to know it."  
  
"Fine." He watched until both men left the room and scowled. A need to know basis... ha! What a joke...It didn't take very much thought to realize that Cullington was obviously someone important in society and was probably little popular based on the reaction that the first policeman had had when he saw Cullington dead. But it still bothered Jon that they wouldn't give him the whole story...maybe he wouldn't tell them about the letter after all. He had been debating about whether he should or not throughout the entire talk with the detective but had come to the conclusion that he really didn't want to tell them anything more until they shared their information.  
  
***  
  
Detective Lestrade walked quickly down the hallway of Scotland Yard with Officer Maier, the man who had discovered Cullington in the alleyway, "Maier, I want you to find out everything you can about Cullington and what he was doing recently, where he was during the past twenty-four hours, and a list of suspects that could have had a motive for murdering him."  
  
"Yes sir. What are you going to do?"  
  
"Pay an old friend a visit..."  
  
***  
  
Lestrade arrived at 221B Baker Street at about 5:30 in the afternoon on foot. He walked up to the door and rang the bell several times before he heard Mrs. Hudson's footsteps. He stepped back as she opened the door and took off his hat, "Good afternoon Mrs. Hudson. I was wondering in Holmes was in."  
  
Mr. Hudson peered back into the house, then turned back around, "Yes, Detective Lestrade, I believe he is. I think that Mr. Holmes is having tea with Dr. Watson in the sitting room. Shall I let them know that you are here?"  
  
"Yes please." The woman nodded briskly and stepped into the house and he could hear Holmes voice from the other room. Mrs. Hudson reappeared in the doorway and she motioned for him to step inside, "He says that he would be delighted to see you. I'll go get some more tea."  
  
Before Lestrade could decline the offer, the woman had already disappeared into the kitchen. The detective shook his head and walked into the sitting room to find Holmes smoking his pipe and reading the paper while Watson was sitting across from him with a scone in one hand and a book in another.  
  
Sherlock Holmes set his paper aside and motioned for Lestrade to sit down, "You have another case for me to solve I suppose..."  
  
"Yes, as a matter of fact I do Holmes." The great detective sighed and settled back into his chair, puffing on his pipe, a look of concentration coming over his face as Lestrade began to tell the story. "You both of course know Sir Henry Cullington?" Both Holmes and Watson nodded, "Well, he was found dead, murdered, in an alleyway early this afternoon by one of our officers."  
  
Watson gaped, "Dead? But why? Cullington was always too polite at the club. Remember Holmes, we saw him there just yesterday!"  
  
Sherlock nodded, "Indeed we did Watson. But it seems that not everyone found Cullington as pleasant as you did...please, continue Lestrade and don't leave out a single detail."  
  
"There was only one witness to the actual murder itself, and that was a lad named Jonathan. I questioned him myself, and he is still back at Scotland Yard if you need to ask him anymore questions Holmes, but here are the notes I was able to take from the boys statement." He handed Sherlock the pad of paper he had been writing on earlier, and the detective took it with a little interest.  
  
Watson turned to Lestrade, "How was the poor man killed?"  
  
"It seemed that he was beat and then killed by a blow to the face."  
  
Watson nodded knowingly as Sherlock Holmes finished going over the notes, "Well, the killer's description in vague as is the description of the incident itself...I would very much like to see the boy in person, if that could be arranged Lestrade. But I just remembered that I have an appointment with a young man about a missing will or something of the sort at 6:00..."  
  
Lestrade thought for a moment, "Well, I myself am going to be busy as soon as I leave from here but I could get the boy to come to you if that would be easier..."  
  
"It would be much simpler...Watson, do you think that you could pick the boy up and bring him over here?"  
  
"Well, I don't have anything planned this evening, so I think I could manage to do that..."  
  
"Very good." Holmes stood up to bid Lestrade good-bye and walked him to the door, "If your men find anything out, I would like to hear of the details."  
  
"Of course...Good day gentlemen..." Lestrade tipped his hat and walked quickly out of the building.  
  
As soon as Sherlock Holmes had sat back down again, Watson looked curiously at his friend, "So, what do you make of all that nonsense?"  
  
"That there is more to this case than a simpler murder Watson. I believe that Cullington was murdered for a reason that runs deeper than meets the eye. As you said, he was a good man, but I also have heard rumors that he sometimes would get involved with the wrong sorts of people, and I suspect that they might have had a hand in his death."  
  
"Well it sounds as if you already have a pretty good idea of what happened today!"  
  
"Indeed I do Watson, but I will need more detailed information than this rubbish Lestrade gave me. The faster that boy gets here the faster I can solve this case..."  
  
"Then I shall go and fetch him for I think I see your next client coming up the steps..."  
  
Holmes smiled and returned to sucking on his pipe, "Well let him in on your way out please...."  
  
"Certainly! I should be back in about thirty minutes, Holmes, do try to keep this meeting short."  
  
"I wouldn't think of doing anything else Watson!"  
  
Dr. Watson chuckled and left his friend sitting in his armchair by the fire, ready to greet his next case. 


	3. Holmes and Babysitting

A/N: Much thanks to Pere Falc, Alexia S. Luclwit, and Estriel...I feel so loved!  
  
***Back in Scotland Yard***  
  
Jon sighed and rocked his chair back and forth. It had been a good two hours since Lestrade had left him alone and frankly, he was getting bored...very, very bored. It didn't help that he had a small attention span either and was just about to start a conversation with himself when the door to his room opened and yet another man whom he had never seen before stepped inside. The man looked to be about in his late forties, he had a well-cut beard and mustache, he was a little round in the middle, and he had a pleasant smile on his face. Jon was immediately suspicious, "Who are you?"  
  
"I am Dr. Watson. I assume that you are the lad who witnessed the murder today?"  
  
"I am...the name's Jonathan, or Jon if you want..."  
  
"Jon it is then. I am here to bring you to my good friend who has just been put in charge of the investigation so you can answer some questions that he has."  
  
"Look, I told that Lestrade guy everything I know..."  
  
Dr. Watson smiled and walked towards Jon, "Really?"  
  
That comment caught Jon off guard, "Well, um...ya, really."  
  
"Well, I still need to take you to my friend...just to make sure." He motioned for Jon to follow him, but the boy didn't move, "Is there something wrong?"  
  
"Where are you going to take me?"  
  
"The sooner you come along, the sooner you will find out my dear boy! Now hurry up, or we shall be late!" Jon slowly got up and followed Watson out of the room and down the hallway, hands stuck deep in his pockets again, mind buzzing. The man called a handsome cab to take and they rode down the streets of London to a very nice neighborhood. The blinds on the windows were drawn tight, so Jon couldn't see outside which made him all the more uncomfortable.  
  
Watson attempted to make polite conversations with Jon, but most of them didn't get very far. "So, where do you live?"  
  
"In the poor district, down an alley."  
  
"Oh. Hmm...well, what do your parents do for a living?"  
  
"I don't know. I haven't seen either of them for five years..."  
  
"Oh..."  
  
"...But I...work at the docks."  
  
"The docks? Pretty rough job."  
  
"Ya..."  
  
Watson smiled at the boy. There was something about him that made him very interesting. Actually, he seemed to be more of a young man than a boy to Watson and he was about to say so when the cab came to a stop and they arrived at Baker Street.  
  
Watson stepped out of the cab, paid the driver, and led Jon up the steps to Holmes's door on which he knocked politely. Mrs. Hudson came to it and nodded at them, keeping her voice down as to not disturb Holmes and his client, "Go on in Dr. Watson. He is almost finished."  
  
Watson thanked her and practically pushed Jon inside the house and into the sitting room. Holmes motioned for them to take a seat and turned back to the young man who was sitting across from him, "Well Mr. Bruse, I will see you again soon, but I am afraid that I have another appointment. I'll get in touch with you soon."  
  
Mr. Bruse bowed and left the room in a hurry, as if embarrassed for intruding on someone else's time. Holmes watched him leave and stretched out in his chair after he heard the door close and waved at Watson, "It's good to see that you're back Watson. That meeting was dreadfully boring and I would have been delighted to have your company to lighten the mood. Ah, but that matter can wait, back to the murder of Sir Cullington. I presume that this is the witness Lestrade mentioned?" Watson nodded while Jon just stood there uncertainly, "Well sit down boy! Make yourself comfortable!" Jon looked a tad grateful and plopped down onto the third chair in the room, leaving the large one opposite from Holmes open for Watson.  
  
While he was getting settled, Holmes looked the boy over quickly before starting the questions. He looked to be either fourteen or fifteen although by the looks of his hands and his boots he already did his fair share of hard labor, down at the docks by the look of the mud on his boots and his windblown hair. He was about as tall as Watson when he was standing and yet he had the physique of one who rarely gets a full meal three times a day. His coat was worn in the elbows and the bottom and he had the air of someone who was very independent and yet smart enough to stay alive on his own. But yet he seemed very familiar and it bothered Holmes, "So...Mr...What did you say your name was?"  
  
"Jonathan."  
  
"Well then Jonathan, I have a few questions to ask you." Jon didn't answer so Holmes continued, "There are some specifics that seem to be left out of your description of the murder."  
  
"What?"  
  
"This object that the larger man took from Cullington? What was it?"  
  
"I don't know, I was half-way down in a barrel! But it looked like something small, like a piece of metal or something...it kind of looked round..."  
  
Holmes's eyebrow rose and a cloud of smoke rose from his pipe, "Very good. Now did the larger man say anything to Cullington or give any hint to a possible motive for murder?"  
  
Jon felt the letter in his pocket with his fingers, "No. He didn't say anything..."  
  
Holmes saw Jon's fingers moving in with jacket, "What do you have in there, I wonder?"  
  
Jon sighed inwardly and slowly pulled out the letter and handed it dejectedly to the detective, "It's something I found in Cullington's pocket after he was dead..."  
  
Holmes quickly scanned the letter and handed it to Watson, "Well, that seemed to be a key piece of evidence. Why didn't you show it to Lestrade?"  
  
"I don't know...I wanted answers that he wasn't giving me."  
  
"What do you want to know. Maybe Watson and I can shed some light on your questions..."  
  
"Who was Sir Henry Cullington?"  
  
"He was a wealthy entrepreneur and worked as a salesman in his youth. He gained a lot of wealth and founded a club for wealthy gentlemen. Unfortunately for him in 1878 the clubs members lost their interest in it because of a rumor that was spread about Cullington. He lost most of his fortune and had to look elsewhere for a source of income. It is said that he made a few deals with some men who gave him money in exchange for positions of power in society but no one was able to prove anything. Once his fortune was returned, however it happened, Cullington once again became a noble citizen, until today when it seems that his past caught up with him."  
  
Jon gaped at Holmes for a moment then shook it off, "Okay...So what do you need me here for?"  
  
"Well, to date you are the only known witness of the crime and the only one who knows what the murder looks like, unless you would care to describe him to me with a little more detail, there are well over fifty men in London alone that could fit this description."  
  
"I can't tell you anymore than I told Lestrade..."  
  
"Would you recognize him if you saw him again?"  
  
"Ya...probably."  
  
Holmes nodded and began to sink deep into thought, his eyes zoning out and the smoke from his pipe became a steady stream.  
  
Jon's gaze shifted from the detective to Watson who had begun to read from the day's newspaper, to Homes's large bookshelf, to the fireplace, to the mantel, at the pictures on the wall, and finally back at Holmes. His short attention span was failing again and after thirty minutes of this, he was about ready to go, "Um, Detective Holmes? May I go now?"  
  
Sherlock nodded absent mindedly and Watson set down his paper and turned to Jon, "Don't mind him, he always gets in this sort of state when he is thinking over a case. If you tell me where you live, I'll send for a handsome to take you back home..."  
  
Jon shook his head, "No, I'm fine...But, do you have the time?"  
  
"Of course..." Watson took out a gold pocket watch and glanced at it, "Why it's...seven o' clock."  
  
"Seven?" Jon leapt to his feet.  
  
"Is there a problem my dear boy?"  
  
He began to walk towards the door, "It's just that it'll be dark by the time I get home and I'm really supposed to be back before then."  
  
"Well, if it's a problem, I'm sure you can always stay here for the night."  
  
Jon stopped and looked around that house. It was nice enough, and it would be excellent to get a full nights sleep, "...All right...thanks..."  
  
"Not a problem." Watson turned to Holmes who was still thinking, "If it's all right with you that is, Holmes."  
  
Finally, the detective snapped out of it. He stared at Watson and blinked several times before saying, "If what it all right?"  
  
"That the boy stays with you for the night."  
  
"What? Watson, may I have a word with you...?" Holmes stood up and walked Watson over to the corner of the room and said in a low voice, "Watson, I cannot keep the boy here!"  
  
"Why ever not?"  
  
"I am not a child person...And he said himself that he has somewhere else to go for the night."  
  
"Holmes, do you mean to tell me that you would let a fifteen year old boy walk himself home in the dark?"  
  
"...Yes."  
  
Watson sighed, "Why don't you just let Mrs. Hudson take care of him for the night?"  
  
"Because tonight she won't be here and I'll be left alone with him."  
  
"Holmes, you can handle it! It is just one boy for one night after all!" They heard a crash and whipped around to see Jon hurrying to pick up pieces of a shattered china vase. Sherlock turned back to look Watson in the eye, who shrugged and put his hat on, "Besides, I will be by first thing in the morning, and if either of you survive the night, we can get to work on this case."  
  
Holmes hurried after Dr. Watson as he began to leave, "You can't leave me alone with him! Watson, come back here!"  
  
"Good night Holmes...See in the morning..." Watson turned with a grin on his face and quickly walked down the steps of 221B Baker Street and hailed a handsome cab.  
  
"Watson! I..." Sherlock was just about to call something out to the doctor when he felt a tug on his sleeve and he turned to face a semi- sheepish looking Jon.  
  
"Excuse me, but I hope that vase wasn't worth much..."  
  
Holmes sighed, closed the front door, stalked over, and flopped down into his armchair with his eyes shut, "Don't worry about it. I guess you are to stay here for the night so feel free to make yourself at home..." His eyes slid open and he saw Jon going through his book collection, "Just don't...touch anything..." Jon glanced at the book he was holding, shoved it back in its place and sat down in the open armchair across from his host. Sherlock glanced at his own pocket watch and turned back to the boy, "I'll tell you what...I am going to bed early tonight so I can get up early tomorrow when Watson arrived. You can sleep anywhere you wish in this room and I believe there is plenty of food in the kitchen if you get hungry."  
  
Jon nodded and watched Holmes trudge into his bedroom and close his door. Only after he heard the click of the lock did he get up again and start to look through the bookcase again. It was amazing. He recognized every single one of them from his father's own library and was about to leaf through a thick encyclopedia when something else caught his eye and made his heart stop for a second. Next to the books on the shelf was a series of folders, all labeled with the names of various criminals, organizations, and important peoples, but one in particular was the one that caught his eye. It was thicker than all of the other folders and full of newspaper clippings, letters, and handwritten notes, and it was labeled Professor James Moriarty. Jon narrowed his eyes and picked the papers up and flipped through them, a sinking feeling was beginning to enter his chest and made it difficult for him to breathe. James Moriarty? It couldn't be...that was the name of his father...  
  
A/N: Hehe...plot twist! Yay! 


	4. The Game is Afoot!

A/N: Sorry it took me a couple of days to get this one out...It's hard to think up a mystery plot and still have it be interesting to readers!  
  
That night, Jon stayed up until midnight going through James Moriarty's file, gapping over the articles and notes that his father had written. When he finally fell asleep, he was just able to put the file back in its place before he collapsed onto the armchair by the hot coals of the fire and fell into an uneasy sleep.  
  
***The next morning...***  
  
As soon as he was awake, Sherlock Holmes leapt to his feet and rushed to get dressed, glancing at his pocket watch as he buttoned up his shirt. It was 7:00 and Watson would be arriving at any moment. He unlocked his door and walked out to find Jonathan curled up in his armchair, deep asleep but for some reason the boy was muttering something and kept twitching at times, as if he were having a nightmare. Holmes studied the boy for a minute and was about to wake him up when there was a knock on the front door. Holmes stood up and let Watson in after exchanging a brief greeting and motioned for him to sit down.  
  
Watson glanced at Jon and turned to look at Holmes, "Goodness Holmes! The boy is having a nightmare!"  
  
"Well, that is what I was thinking as well...should I wake him?"  
  
"By all means!"  
  
Holmes walked back over to his chair and roughly shook Jon's shoulders. The boy started and sprang awake, his eyes wide and frightened. He glanced around and shook his head as if to clear it and rubbed his eyes. Watson stood up and moved towards him, "Are you quite all right? It seems that you were having a bit of a...nightmare..."  
  
Jon glared up as if to rebuke Watson for saying it out loud, "Ya...I'm fine..."  
  
Watson stepped back, turned to Holmes and shrugged, then sat back down in his armchair. Holmes raised his eyebrows and rubbed his hands together, "Well, now that we all seem to be awake, I should think that you both would like to know what we are going to do today." Watson nodded in agreement and he went on, "First thing is that Watson and I must rough up our appearances so we won't attract to much attention to ourselves when we try to dig up some new information that could help us to prove the case...Jon...You're probably fine the way you are..." Jon scowled and folded his arms across his chest. "Watson, I believe I have some outfits that will fit you in my closet. If you will follow me, we can change and get to work."  
  
The doctor stood up and followed Holmes into his bedroom while Jon stole his now open chair and sat down. In a few minutes, the duo came back out looking so different that Jon didn't really believe that it was them. Watson had now grown a shaggy beard and was wearing a patched up overcoat and an old bowler hat while Holmes had grown a mustache and looked almost exactly like some of the men down at the docks. Watson smiled at Jon's expression of confusion, "Why don't look so surprised my dear boy. It is just us! Holmes is a master of disguises."  
  
Jon stood up as the two men crossed over the room and Holmes opened the door, "I guessed about as much..."  
  
Sherlock walked out into the sidewalk and began to saunter down the street, "Well, the first place we should probably head to is where I get started on most of my cases that deal with crime in the city..."  
  
"Where's that? Scotland Yard?"  
  
"Heavens no boy! The local tavern!"  
  
"Oh..."  
  
***  
  
When they reached the front of the bar Holmes turned to Jon and looked him straight in the eyes, "Now listen here. I do not want you blowing our cover or attracting any attention to us so do try to behave yourself..."  
  
Jon rolled his eyes and pushed his way past the detective into the building and muttered, "...If I behave then I really will attract attention..."  
  
Holmes shot an I-blame-you glance at Watson who simply shrugged and followed Jon in to a table in a back corner of the room. Holmes sighed and walked in too, but instead headed for the bar, taking an empty seat at the edge of the counter next to some very rough looking men with tankards full of rum.  
  
Watson was trying not to breathe the heavily smoke laden air in to much and turned to Jon, who looked quite comfortable with the whole situation, "Tell me Jon, you look very at ease in here...Have you been to this tavern before?"  
  
"Of course not! I just recognize most of the men in here, but luckily, most of them are so drunk, they won't even give me a passing glance! You see that man over there, the one next to the man Holmes is talking to?" Watson nodded and glanced at the man Jon was pointing at. He was a heavy set man in his late thirties with a rough beard and greasy hair, "He is my boss at work, 'Mr.' Cunders...lovely fellow really, especially if you avoid him."  
  
"Are you sure none of them will recognize you here? You realize of course that if anyone of them does, you may blow whatever cover story that Holmes is setting up?"  
  
"Of course I do! I'm not an idiot! I just don't think that..." Just then Cunders turned his head and caught sight of Jon, who swore under his breath and turned to Watson as his boss lumbered over, "Of course, I could be wrong..."  
  
Cunders leaned on the table and gave Jon a drunken glare, "So whats bring ye to these parts o town, Jon?"  
  
"Well, uh...Can I get back to you on that?"  
  
"Why aren't yous at work, like I told ya ta be!"  
  
"Well, I suppose because I had better things to do at the moment" Cunders glare deepened, "...but as soon as I am done, I will rush right over to the docks and get back to work."  
  
"I don't like your attitude boy...I never have..."  
  
"Well I am glad you told me that Mr. Cunders, because now I will reform myself and become a much better person, all because you told me that."  
  
"That's it boy! I've had 'nough of your backtalk!" Cunders lifted his hand up and brought it down to punch Jon, but he was too fast for the drunken man and slipped under the table. Watson leapt to his feet and called out to Holmes who slapped his forehead, sighed, and walked quickly over to help.  
  
"Stops movin' so damn fast boy, so's I can can hit ya!" Cunders raised him hand holding the tankard and smashed it down onto the table, sending splinters, rum, and tiny shards of glass flying in every direction as the table shattered under the force and Jon had just enough time to roll out of the way and dive under a neighboring table before he was crushed.  
  
"That's not much incentive for me to slow down, now is it Cunders!"  
  
Watson turned to Holmes as Cunders and Jon went at it some more, "Holmes, what should we do?! The boy will be killed!"  
  
"Stay calm Watson...he is doing just fine. I don't believe that he even has so much of a scratch. Besides, there is not much we can do unless you want me to shoot this Cunders fellow, but I believe that starting a gun fight would fall under the category of attracting attention to ourselves..."  
  
"Are you saying that this," he motioned towards Jon who had just managed to fend Cunders off with a chair, "Is not attracting attention?!"  
  
Holmes shrugged and glanced at the other people in the bar who were all going about their business as if nothing had happened, "Well, it isn't yet anyway..."  
  
Watson followed Holmes's gaze and frowned in surprise, "Well, I guess you're right...but still, we just can't leave the boy to deal with this on his own...I feel sort of responsible for his well being..."  
  
Holmes sighed and patted Watson on the back, "I suppose you're right Watson...Don't worry, I can handle this..." He walked over to Cunders who now had Jon cornered and tapped the man on the shoulder and with the other picked up the bottom of his shattered tankard, "Excuse me sir, but I believe this is yours..." and smashed the glass tankard down onto Cunders head.  
  
The man stared blankly at Holmes before reeling backwards and collapsing back... unfortunately right on top of Jon who gasped for breath after having such a large man fall on him and shoved him off with some difficulty. The boy stood up, brushed himself off and walked slowly over to Holmes and Watson, "...I could have done that..."  
  
***  
  
Another half an hour later and the group had made it back to Baker Street surprisingly in tact. When they got into the apartment and had firmly locked the door behind them, Holmes yanked off his mustache and turned to Watson and Jon, "Well, while you two were doing heavens knows what, I was actually getting information on the case..."  
  
Jon flopped onto the rug in front of the fireplace and scowled, "Well excuse me if I was a little too preoccupied at the moment to help you out..."  
  
Holmes gave the boy a don't-interrupt-me look and he fell silent, "...As I was saying...My contact informed me that the most likely candidate for the murder of Sir Cullington was probably a fellow named Bowmer, a somewhat well-known member of the London gang that has been connected with multiple murders, robberies, and other such things. Although my informant wasn't able to supply me with an accurate description of Bowmer he was able to give me an address at which he is often seen late at night."  
  
Watson nodded as he took off his beard and hat, "So I suppose we'll be staying up late tonight...?"  
  
"Exactly Watson." 


	5. The Steakout and the Capture

A/N: After this chapter I'll try to be more diligent about updating, but I'm trying to finish my summer homework, so please excuse me for any annoying delays...Oh! Thank you March Hare for reviewing a second time, I am very appreciative that you review my story because my friends and I greatly admire your own fanfics! One more thing! Before I completely forget, I just wanted to add that any names that you do not recognize, I have probably made up, so if I somehow manage to get someone's real last name, it was purely coincidental*ahem* Anyways, back to the story!  
  
***Baker Street, 11:00 pm***  
  
Holmes quietly slunk outside onto the sidewalk, and closed his door after Watson and Jon had followed him out. He glanced around to make sure no one else was out at that hour, and seeing no one but the police man on the far street corner who was taking a nap, he motioned for the other two to follow him and they headed down the street as silently as they could. The only reason why they were trying to be so stealthy is because Holmes had warned them that if anybody saw them walking around, first of all they may call the police and slow down the investigation or they would follow them and he wasn't very keen on having anyone else join in on their little adventure. After all, three people was certainly enough for him as he would have preferred to go along, but Jon was the only one who could really identify the murder and he had brought Watson along to keep watch over the boy.  
  
They headed down the street and turned down a side-road into a small neighborhood that was known for its shady dealings and mysterious disappearances. There were only two reasons for going there, either you were a criminal or you were extremely drunk and forgotten where you were walking. Of course, Holmes, Watson, and Jon were neither of those...but their reason for being there was different then most peoples.  
  
Holmes checked the street address on a napkin that he had gotten from the man at the bar earlier that day and nodded at Watson, "Well, we are here..."  
  
Jon glanced at the building from behind Watson and a look of disgust appeared on his face as his gaze shifted quickly from the peeling black paint on the side of the house, to the piles of trash and mud in front of it, to the boards that were nailed in front of the windows instead of panes of glass, "Ya, but where is here?"  
  
Watson shrugged, "I have no idea...Holmes, what is this place? It looks as if it should be condemned..."  
  
"It probably has been Watson. I am not familiar with this residence, but I am guessing that it is the home to an acquaintance of Mr. Bowmer."  
  
Jon gazed at the house for a little longer, then turned to Holmes, "So...what now?"  
  
"Now we wait. Until Bowmer arrives anyway, and then we will need to find a way to get close enough to him so that you can see his face and identify him. It is a very simple plan really..."  
  
Jon grimaced, "But how often do things go according to plan?"  
  
"When you are working with me boy, they always go as planned."  
  
Jon raised his eyebrows disbelievingly and glanced around at the building across the street from Bowmer's, "Do you think that we would be able to hide around there to wait?"  
  
Watson turned around and took a good look at the building, "It looks alright Holmes...it as deserted as a graveyard..."  
  
The detective glanced back at it and nodded curtly, "I suppose it will do."  
  
The three walked over and took their self-assigned positions; Holmes was crouched behind a barrel, Watson was standing in the shadows of a large beam, and Jon was sitting cross-legged behind a large shipping crate, and they began to wait.  
  
***An hour later...***  
  
Jon was now sprawled out with his legs propped up on the crate and his back on the ground, his eyes staring up at the bottom of the rotting overhang above them. It had begun to drizzle and it cast a sort of misty haze over the surroundings as Watson took out his pocket watch for the fifth time and glanced at it. He sighed and turned to Holmes, who was still crouching behind the barrel, looking for all the world as if they had only been waiting a minute, "Holmes, did your informant happen to mention a certain time that Bowmer often comes to this house?"  
  
"No Watson, all he mentioned was '...late at night...' just as I told you."  
  
Jon lifted his head up to glance at Holmes, then he slammed it back onto the porch again, "Perhaps he should have said early in the morning..."  
  
Watson couldn't help smiling at the boy's comment but Holmes just ignored him. All of a sudden, the detective gave a little bounce and motioned for Jon to sit up and whispered, "Quick! Someone's coming!"  
  
Jon obeyed and the three watched together as a burly man with a large overcoat that must have been Bowmer trudged down the middle of the street and stopped at the house across the street from them. Bowmer glanced shiftily around then walked quickly up to the front door of the old house and knocked three times on the door. It slowly creaked open and, after Bowmer had stepped inside, closed with a slam.  
  
Holmes gave Watson a little nod and the two slunk stealthily over to the old house, their pistols drawn, and got right underneath one of the boarded up windows. Jon watched them slink over, glanced around and after making sure that no one else was out, stuffed his hands in his pockets and sauntered over to them. A soft glow was coming from inside the building now, along with the voices of two men. Holmes slowly raised his head and gazed into the house through a hole in one of the boards, his eyebrows knit together in concentration.  
  
Bowmer was sitting down uncomfortably in a worn couch and another man was sitting with his back to the window in a high backed chair. Bowmer looked slightly nervous and kept on wiping his brow as if he were sweating a lot, and Holmes wasn't able to make out a word he was saying because he was speaking in a strained voice and stuttering so much that it would have been impossible to read his lips. Sherlock slowly lowered himself back underneath the window, trying not to make any sudden movements that would attract either of the men's attention and carefully motioned to Jon that he should take a look. Jon crawled over on his hands and knees and, following Holmes's example, slowly raised himself up so that he was just able to see inside.  
  
He recognized Bowmer immediately and quickly kneeled back down under the window. He turned to Holmes and Watson and whispered, "That's him all right, looks exactly the same as he did when he murdered Cullington..."  
  
Holmes motioned rapidly for Jon to shut up and after waiting a few tense moments of waiting absolutely silently for someone to come outside to investigate the sound, slowly rose again to look into the window...only to find himself staring into the grinning face of a certain Mr. Streicher. Holmes swore softly under his breath as the man took out a gun that was behind his back and pointed it at Sherlock's head, "Good to see you again Mr. Holmes. I see we are still having trouble keeping our nose out of other people's business...Won't you come inside where it's warm and have a little chat with us?"  
  
Holmes glanced at the gun then back up at Streicher, "Well it does not seem that I have much of a choice. How did you escape from Scotland Yard?"  
  
"When your boss is rich, almost anything is possible. It was just a matter of slipping the right amount of money into the right hands..." He waved the gun and Holmes slowly stood all the way up, motioning slightly to Watson to stay down and strolled over to the front door.  
  
Jon tried to say something but Watson quickly clapped a hand over his mouth, pulled him back away from the door into the shadows, and watched as Holmes stepped inside, making sure to close the door tightly behind him.  
  
Once voices could once again be heard coming from the room, Watson carefully dragged the now squirming Jon off of the house's front porch and off into the alleyway along the side of the house. Jon was finally able to break free and he turned and glared at Watson, "We can't just leave him there! Did you see that gun? They'll kill him!"  
  
"I know, dear boy, but we can't just go rushing in there without a plan! You aren't even armed."  
  
"I could make do! There has to be something sharp and dangerous in that house!"  
  
"We must think it over first! The situation has become slightly more complex then I had first realized..."  
  
Jon stopped muttering under his breath and stared at Watson, "...What do you mean?"  
  
"That man who caught Holmes? His name is Streicher. We have dealt with him before and he can be very dangerous at times, although we have learned that he always follows his superior's orders exactly..."  
  
"Who would that be?"  
  
"The only one who has ever beaten Holmes and escaped capture time after time...Holmes's arch nemesis, Professor James Moriarty..."  
  
Jon paled slightly and looked at the ground, "O-oh..."  
  
"What's wrong boy? Are you all right Jon?"  
  
"Y-yes, quite all right..." The doctor looked unconvinced and Jon broke, "Very well! If you must know..." he sighed as Watson gave a look of surprise at the sudden outburst, "The reason I wouldn't tell you my name? My whole name?" Watson nodded uncertainly, "It's because...because my real name in Jon...Jonathan Moriarty..."  
  
Watson did a double take and stared at him, "What?! You're related to Professor Moriarty!?"  
  
Jon winced at his tone, "Yes...actually...I think he is...he is my father..."  
  
Watson's eyes bulged slightly and his jaw dropped. Several moments went by and suddenly, a smile appeared on Watson's face and he began to chuckle softly. Jon scowled and folded his arms across his chest, "What is it? I'm serious! I think that Moriarty is my father!"  
  
"I believe you Jon...I was just imaging the look that Holmes is going to have when you tell him that!"  
  
Jon's arms dropped and it was his turn to drop his jaw, "You mean you're, you're not angry?"  
  
"Heavens no boy! Why would I be? You have yet to do anything wrong!...Well, anything serious anyway...It's not like you're exactly like your father..."  
  
Jon nodded, not so certain about the whole thing as the now grinning Watson standing beside him. He frowned and then remembered why they were standing in the middle of a drizzly alley-way, "Watson! What about Holmes?!"  
  
"Oh yes, well, I have an idea, it might not be the best idea, but it will certainly do the trick for the moment. All I need from you is a distraction."  
  
Jon narrowed his eyes suspiciously, "What kind of distraction?"  
  
"Well, my thought is this. You rush in and distract the two men and somehow get them to leave the room. I get Holmes out of there and, seeing how quickly you were able to run this morning...actually it would be yesterday morning, wouldn't it?...you can escape the two men and we will meet up again back at Baker Street."  
  
Jon stared at him blankly, "That's your plan?" Watson nodded, "Well, hell, I say let's do it! It sounds good and fool proof to me!"  
  
"Excellent! So you go first and I'll follow you after you run out with both Bowmer and Streicher following you..."  
  
Jon nodded and walked over to the edge of the porch and readied himself to do the stupidest thing he could ever remember attempting to do in his while life. 


	6. A Rescue Attempt

A/N: Thank you Black Rose25 for your generous contributions to my review pile. Good luck on your own fanfics. I promise I'm doing my best to get more Holmes in, but I kind of just let the plot goes where it wants to go, ya know? (Aka I have no idea what is going to happen next! *grinz*) And I just had the need to mention how creepy it is how many things we have in common...*shiver* anyways...back to the story! Yay! Sorry it has been so incredibly long by the way, I was (and still am...) swamped with stuff to do...  
  
***Past midnight, in front of Bowmer's hideout***  
  
Jon took a deep breath and stooped low under the window and made a dash for the door. As he took the last step towards the entrance to the house, he exhaled, and slammed the door open with a powerful kick that broke the lock off (which actually wasn't that hard, considering that the lock was practically all rust and no metal...). He leapt in the room and his eyes caught sight of one of the men's pistol that was resting on a table right next to the now broken down door. He picked it up and aimed it at Streicher's head, "Don't move or I'll blow your head off!"  
  
Streicher stared at the lad for a moment in temporary shock, then glancing at Holmes who was sitting down on the couch next to Bowmer with a gun at his head, and laughed, "And what are you going to do boy? Kill me? With what, the gun's empty!"  
  
Holmes shook his head and Jon spun around with his back facing the men. He opened the pistol and saw that, just as Streicher had said, the barrel was empty. He closed it back up again and whipped around to face the men again, shifted his weight around on his feet, getting ready to run and said, "Not if I just reloaded it..."  
  
Streicher took a step closer, "You're bluffin' boy, that thing is as empty as your head! What are you trying to do, rescue Holmes? This is the saddest excuse for a rescue that I have ever seen!"  
  
Jon nodded and cocked the pistol and gave the man a look of extreme smugness, "But what if I'm not?"  
  
Holmes frowned, "I have never seen that boy in my life! I have no idea what he is talking about..."  
Jon's attitude set the man off a little and he subconsciously took a step back, "There's no chance of that, but I am afraid that know we are going to kill you now. I know that you know him Holmes! Shut up or you'll be next!" Streicher raised his gun and pointed it at Jon who still hadn't dropped the pistol in his hands, "Good bye..."  
  
The gun fired but Jon was already half way out the door when it hit the wall that was behind him. Streicher swore and motioned to Bowmer to stay where he was, "That little brat knows to much, he'll go to the police! Bowmer, stay here and guard Holmes! If he moves so much as an eyebrow, shoot him!" With that the man tore out of the house after Jon and thundered down the dirty cobblestone street after him.  
  
Jon was already halfway down the block, and as he gasped for breath, he turned around to see if either of them were following. Sure enough, the Streicher fellow had taken off after him and was now gaining. Jon swore under his breath as he splashed through a large puddle and almost twisted his ankle in a pothole. The rain had gotten heavier and it was getting hard to see what was twenty meters ahead of you, much less a murderer who is chasing after you. He stumbled a little and let out a little scream as a bullet whizzed over his head, missing his skull by about five centimeters, then turned around and begun to run down another path that was parallel to the one he was just on. He whipped around the corner and sprinted down the deserted road. He had to get back to the house and distract the other man! Watson was counting on him!  
  
He dared another glance back and sighed. Streicher was gone...he had lost him. He slowed down to a jog and hurried down the alley, trying to locate for Bowmer's house from its backside so he could jump back in and get Bowmer to leave. Jon had spotted it and was just about to jump a fence that stood in his way when something hard hit him in the head from behind. Jon heard a loud crack and his vision grew fuzzy. He stumbled around and was just able to catch a glimpse of a grinning Streicher before he passed out.  
  
***Meanwhile...***  
  
Watson heard Jon take off down the road and footsteps following him, so he slowly advanced towards the front door and waiting right outside it to observe what was going on in the room. At once he recognized Holmes's strained voice and another gruffer one that he quickly decided must be Bowmer. He leaned back against the edge of the door and quickly considered his options. He could either wait for Bowmer to leave, or just go in there and get Holmes and pray that Bowmer wasn't armed. He nodded to himself, easily deciding that the latter option was the only correct answer and slunk into the house. Thankfully, Bowmer had his back turned to the front door, and Holmes, who was facing Watson as his crawled on his hands and knees into the room, gave no sign that he saw the doctor except for a slight nod of the head. Bowmer was sitting in the high backed chair that Streicher had been using only moments before and guessing by the way he was speaking to Holmes, Watson guessed that he was feeling very smug at the moment. Watson was able to get right behind the chair without Bowmer noticing and slowly rose up so that his eyes were just able to peek over the edge of the chair. He slowly lowered his handgun so that it was pointed straight at Bowmer's head and gave a small nod to Holmes.  
  
The detective raised his eyebrows and rested his chin on his hands as he often did when he was thinking, "Well, Bowmer, I am afraid that I must leave you now. You see, there is something important that I must attend to..."  
  
"What? Oh no you don't! You're not going anywhere!"  
  
Watson rested his gun on the side of the man's head, making him jump in his seat, "Oh, I really think he is. Now would you please drop your gun...That's a good chap."  
  
Bowmer released his gun with a look on his face so venoms that it would have melted through stone. Holmes stood up and nodded to the man, "Do be sure to give my best to Streicher when he returns, won't you? Come along Watson!" Watson backed up towards the door with his gun still aimed at Bowmer's head and slipped quickly out the door. The second that he turned his back, Bowmer leapt to his feet and grabbed his gun off of the floor and desperately tried to get a few shots off at Holmes and Watson before the disappeared into the hazy darkness.  
  
***  
The two men didn't stop running until they reached the corner of Baker Street and Watson finally had to signal to Holmes that they needed to stop so he could catch his breath. Once he was able to speak again, the doctor turned to Holmes, "What do we do now?"  
  
"Now, we go straight to the police and tell them to search that house and arrest Bowmer and Streicher if they are still there, although I sincerely doubt it...Why did that stupid boy have to go and speak? He ruined the entire investigation! Now we will have to start afresh and we will need to find where they move next so we can capture them there, because not even Streicher is stupid enough to stay in a discovered hideout!"  
  
Watson frowned, "Don't be too hard on the boy, Holmes. He did try to save you..."  
  
"Being that it was his fault in the first place that I got caught, I would say that he owed it to me!"  
  
Watson sighed, "Oh...there is something else that I should probably tell you about Jon before we meet up with him again..."  
  
"And what is that Watson?"  
  
"Jon is...well, he is the son of your old tutor..."  
  
Holmes straightened up and gave Watson a strange look, "My old tutor? But you surely don't mean that Jon, that annoying boy that we have been forced to carry around with us, is the son of Professor Moriatry?"  
  
"That is exactly what I mean Holmes. Jon told me himself, James Moriarty is his father!"  
  
Holmes stared at him for a moment, blinked several times, then sunk deep into thought and began to pace, "I knew I recognized that face from somewhere...but I cannot believe that I have been harboring the heir of my arch nemesis!..."  
  
Watson looked up at Holmes, "I didn't know that he was married...did you Holmes?"  
  
"..He probably isn't...no, he doesn't seem the type at all...of course I have a hard time imagining him being a father either..." Holmes stopped pacing and glanced at Watson, "Where is Jon anyway?"  
  
"We agreed that we would meet here...It seems that he should be back by now, although it is possible that he had to run a little farther than I had previously thought..."  
  
"Well, I'm sure when he arrives he will have no trouble getting into the house. Come along Watson, I must think up a new plan of action to catch Bowmer, not too mention Streicher..."  
  
Watson looked back into the shadowy depths of the street, sighed, and followed Holmes worriedly back into the house. 


	7. Doubt and Worry

A/N: Thank you for the review...um...Holmes, Sorry it's been taking so long for me to update, school's keepin' me busy...All right! Let's get going right away, shall we?  
  
***Back at Bowmer's house***  
  
Jon groaned and sat up, resting his back against a wall. It was dark, he couldn't see anything. He tried to reach up to feel the pounding bump on the back of his head but discovered that his whole body was bound with rope and, after trying to call out to someone, found that he had a gag on. His eyelids drooped as he fought to stay awake, but he felt the darkness of unconsciousness sweep over him again, and slumped back onto the floor.  
  
***  
He jolted awake and tried to spring to his feet only to find that they were still bound. Now that he was more awake, Jon was not only now aware of the small slit of light coming in from a room behind the locked closet he was in, but also of the burns he was getting on his wrists and ankles from the tightly bound rope. He struggled to sit up again and inched his way over to the crack in the door, placing his head against it so he could see out with one eye. It looked like the room he had been earlier when he had rescued Holmes...Wait a minute. If he had been captured, and it was beginning to look like he had been, Watson and Holmes would be out looking for him, wouldn't they? Doubt began to cloud Jon's thoughts as he sat in the darkness surveying his situation. Of course they wouldn't be. He had just met them a few days ago, and they had only brought him along because they had needed him to identify the suspect. They didn't care about him, they had just been nice to him while they still needed him, and now they would forget about him and leave him to fight for himself, just like everyone always did. Adults were all the same...he had been a fool to think that he had finally found people who were different.  
  
As he peered out into the room beyond the door, he caught sight of some movement off to the side of his vision. Someone was there, but probably not someone he wanted to see. He heard footsteps approaching the closet and he was just able to throw himself against the back wall as the door was thrown open and Bowmer's face glared down at him. The fifteen year old stared defiantly back and tried to say something, but it only came out as a muffled slur.  
  
Bowmer smirked and lifted the struggling boy over his shoulder, as if he were a bundle of sticks, and dropped him down onto the couch, then sat down in the chair across from him. Bowmer nodded at Jon before leaning back and pulling out a pipe, "Well, its just you and me kid, the boss is gone, an' he left me in charge. Whatever I say goes, got it?"  
  
Jon just glared at him and tried his best to sit up straight, which turned out to be a tough task because the rope dug into his wrists when he straightened up, so he had to live with slouching. Bowmer grinned maliciously as he watched Jon struggle and blew a smoke ring at the boy from his now-lit pipe, "I tied them knots meself, no way yer getting out of them...So, Streicher tells me that yer the little whelp that caught me killin' Cullington? That was a bit of bad luck for you now wasn't it? You should have minded your own business, but I suppose yer too daft to be dishonest, now ain't you?"  
  
Jon tried to lunge at the man, but all he managed to do was fall flat on his face onto the ground, his mussed brown hair falling into his eyes. Bowmer laughed and leaned forward in his chair so that Jon was able to see his face, "Now what'd ya go and do that for idiot boy? Tryin' to make trouble, eh? Well, if I were you, I wouldn't be doing anything too stupid, or I'll have to blow a hole through your chest...boss's orders..." A grin had spread across Bowmer's face again, and something in the man's eyes told Jon that he would love nothing better than to shoot him.  
  
Jon narrowed his eyes, murmured something not understandable to Bowmer, although it sounded a little like a curse, and sat up so he was leaning against the couch with his bottom still on the floor, mostly because after several times of trying to hoist himself onto the couch, he found that it was easier and less humiliating just to give up. Bowmer stared at the boy and began to puff on his pipe again, "Yer in for it now though boy, hell is almost upon ya, and there ain't no escape. I hear from the boss that he's gonna use you as bait for the detective, and then he'll kill the both of ya...He seems mighty mad at you, and he's not a good fellow to have as your enemy...your about to find that out the hard way..."  
  
A dreamy look had come into Jon's eyes, but his mind was buzzing with ideas. They must not know who he is, otherwise, if Moriarty really was their boss, they would even have tied him up. He decided to save telling his captors that small piece of information until the right moment presented itself, and began to think of another way out. Even though Holmes didn't care for him, the detective would probably be back soon with the Scotland Yard to take Bowmer and Streicher in to jail, and if nothing else, he could escape then...if Bowmer let him live that long. Escaping would be easier if there was a distraction of some sort, and if he was able to get these damned ropes off.  
  
***Back at Baker Street***  
  
It was the next morning and Watson was slumped down in his armchair sleeping next to the dwindling fire. He had been up all night waiting for Jon, but exhaustion had finally overcome him. Holmes emerged from his room, fully dressed and glanced at Watson before he sat down in his own chair and quietly opened the mornings paper. He didn't want to disturb his friend, especially because he had learned on prior investigations that Watson, like most human beings, tended to be a bit moody when woken up. Finally, though, as the sun began to shine through the drawn windows, Watson stirred and sat up. Spotting Holmes, he covered a yawn with his hand, "...Has there been any sign of him yet?"  
  
"No, I'm afraid not."  
  
Watson rubbed his forehead and leaned back in his chair, "Oh Holmes! This is awful! I feel so...responsible! If anything happened to that dear boy I shall never forgive myself!"  
  
"Calm yourself Watson, you and I both know that Jon is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. I am sure he is both alive and well."  
  
"Are you still upset about finding out who his father is?" Sherlock leaned farther back in his chair and used the paper to cover his face, "Really! Sometimes you can hold the most immature grudges I have ever heard of!"  
  
Holmes brought the paper down and stared at his friend indignantly, "Immature? Watson, there is nothing immature about this! He is Moriarty's son! For all we know, he could be working for his father still and he messed last night up on purpose!"  
  
Watson rolled his eyes, "I know you don't really believe any of that Holmes..."  
  
"I certainly do! Well, most of it anyway...Curse you Watson, you know me too well! I do think however, that having him around presents a very possible danger for our safety, and I would also like to point out that now that we know Bowmer is the man we have been looking for, we are no longer in need of Jon's services."  
  
"You can't possibly mean that you are just going to forget about him, and not even try to search for him?"  
  
"Watson, I have a job to do and there is a murder loose in the streets of London. I know you have grown fond of the boy, but we must consider our priorities. Even wasting a day trying to look for him could mean that we stray farther from the case at hand!"  
  
"Don't even pretend like you haven't grown fond of him as well Holmes..."  
  
"I have done no such thing! That boy is a burden to me, and I cannot even begin to understand how you stand being around him!"  
  
"Oh, come now! Perhaps you don't like him, but you do enjoy his company. Whenever you are around him, you get a strange glint in your eye of a man who is ready for a challenge. He is interesting to you, as does his life. The abandoned son of your arch foe? I know you well enough to imagine that you, Holmes, would find such a person fascinating!"  
  
Holmes just frowned and hid behind his paper again. Watson smiled happily and settled back in his chair. There was still one thing that he could compete with Holmes on, and that was analyzing Holmes's own feelings. The great detective knew everything about most things important, except for the way he himself worked. Finally, after running out of print to read, Holmes set the paper down on his side table, picked up his pipe and began to smoke. Watson recognized the thoughtful expression that had appeared on Holmes's face and turned to look out of the mostly closed bay window that led out to the street.  
  
About half an hour later, Holmes set his pipe down, stood up, and began to pace the room, "All right, I have decided what we shall do. I will go out tonight, after alerting the Scotland Yard of my plan of course, and Lestrade and I, who I'm sure can free up his schedule, can raid Bowmer's house and hopefully catch both him and Streicher unprepared and take them to jail. Watson, I shall need you to stay here, for the sole purpose of Jon arriving while I am out. There is still a slight possibility that he has just been in hiding for the past few hours, and he will return here when he feels safe enough to do so. But if Jon happened to fall into the hands of either Bowmer or Streicher, he will probably be in the house with them, and I will rescue him myself."  
  
"But, what if something should happen to both you and Lestrade? I would have no way of knowing..."  
  
"Watson please, you will know if we are not back by tomorrow morning that something has gone wrong, in which case, you will alert the Scotland Yard and will most likely do all you can to see to our safe return."  
  
"Well, I suppose..."  
  
"Everything will work out perfectly, just like it should have yesterday...hmm...anyway, this is nothing different than my usual cases! You are just a little more worried for my well-being this time because of your lack of sleep. Now, if you will excuse me, I have business elsewhere to attend to. Mrs. Hudson should be arriving in about an hour, and you are hungry, go right ahead and tell her to set you up with some breakfast." And with that, Sherlock grabbed him cloak and walked out of the door closing it firmly behind him.  
  
Watson stared after him and sighed, "Holmes, it is not you that I am worried about..."  
  
A/N: Oooo! What is going to happen next? I have no idea! Truly, I don't! (...I'll write again as soon as I can! 


	8. An Actually Successful Rescue

A/N: Ok, let's see how much writing I can get out today!  
  
***Bowmer's House***  
  
It had been a few hours since the sun had risen and frankly Jon was getting quite uncomfortable for many reasons. The coarse rope cutting into his flesh, the leering face of the man in front of him, the reek of tobacco smoke, the gun pointed at his chest...he sighed inwardly, not a good way to start out a morning. The good news about all of this was that he was rather unconcerned about the whole thing. A while ago, he had figured that if Bowmer was really going to kill him, he would have done it along time ago, not to say that the man didn't seem to want to, because he did, really badly actually.  
  
Jon yawned softly and turned to look out the window, but turned back to face forward as he heard the click of a handgun. Bowmer grinned, "Don't even move a muscle, boy, or I'll be sending you into the afterlife..." Jon rolled his eyes, but decided not to take his chances anyway.  
  
A few minutes later, there was a soft rapping on the front door. Bowmer looked at it to Jon, then back at the door again, and finally he stood up, and with his gun still trained on the boy, he walked over to the front door and cracked it open, "What da ya want?"  
  
"I want to talk to your boss..." Jon frowned, although it was hidden by the gag so no one could see it anyway. The voice sounded familiar. Bowmer opened the door a little farther and Jon's eyebrows shot up, it was that Lestrade guy from Scotland Yard! Except, he was in disguise.  
  
Bowmer scowled at the new comer, "For what purpose?"  
  
"Only to ask a few questions 'bout job opportunities..."  
  
Bowmer glanced around back into the house and turned back to Lestrade, "Just a moment..." He shut the door, and walked quickly over to Jon, "If I hear one peep out of you, you won't live long enough to see another sunrise, got it?" Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed Jon by his rope bindings, lifted him up, walked over to the closet, threw him roughly inside, and shut and locked the door. Jon groaned in pain and slipped down to the floor, feeling some warm liquid running down his hands. Blood. He blinked his eyes, shook his head, and inched his way on his side back to the crack in the door again and peered into the room. Bowmer was leading Lestrade and another man who had a hooded cloak on that shadowed his face over to the couch where they both sat down edgily. Jon laughed to himself, despite the dull pounding he was feeling in his back and most of his limbs, not believing how idiotic Bowmer was. He deserved to be put into prison, the fool.  
  
Lestrade glanced around uncomfortably and then turned back to Bowmer, "So...What kind of jobs do you end up doing for your boss anyway?"  
  
"You know, all kinds of things, nothin' I can't handle on my own..."  
  
"What have you done recently, just to get an idea of what my future occupation may be of course."  
  
Jon snorted into his gag doubtfully. There was no way that anyone would ever fall for that trick...Bowmer frowned thoughtfully, "Well, I am presently doing a job for him, to take care of this kid." Jon's jaw dropped slightly, supposing that it was possible for people to be as stupid as a rock.  
  
"What do you mean, 'take care of'...?"  
  
"Well I haven't done nothing yet, but I'm looking forward to removing him from the picture, if you know what I mean..."  
  
"That's just what I wanted to hear..." Lestrade got to his feet and whipped out a pistol before Bowmer even blinked, "You are under arrest for murder and the attempted murder of a child. Slowly stand up with your hands on the back of your head." Bowmer's face lit up with rage, but he did what he was told.  
  
The second man threw off his hood, and Jon almost passed out with surprise...either surprise or blood loss any way...It was Holmes. Sherlock turned to Bowmer who was now looking homicidal and asked, "Where is the boy Bowmer?"  
  
"You think that I would tell you, you...you..." Bowmer stuttered and fell silent, so angry that he was having trouble speaking.  
  
Holmes raised an eyebrow and turned to Lestrade, "Go ahead and take him back to Scotland Yard Lestrade, I will remain here and look for the boy."  
  
The policeman nodded and marched Bowmer out of the house, looking very pleased with his new capture. Jon, trembling with excitement, tried to call out, but his muffled cries were lost in the gag. Desperate, he banged his head against the closet door trying to think and realized that it made a very loud "thump" noise. Jon smiled to himself and continued to knock his head against the door until Holmes walked over and curiously opened the closet up.  
  
Jon spilled out and on to the detective's feet, then looked up at him sheepishly. Holmes sighed, tore off Jon's gag, and bent down to begin to untie Jon's hands, "You are a very lucky person. I hope you know that, Jon Moriarty."  
  
Jon stopped dead and looked up again at Holmes as the man finished unbinding his feet, "You...you know about that?"  
  
"I do." Holmes stood up and gave Jon a stiff hand up. The young man stumbled a bit and was forced to use Holmes's shoulder as a crutch as the blood flowed slowly back into his legs and feet.  
  
"And you still came back for me?"  
  
"For Bowmer actually..." Holmes paused a moment and watched as realization poured into Jon's eyes, "...But you are a slightly welcome addition. Besides, Watson would have skinned me alive if I had not brought you back with me."  
  
A small grin lit Jon's face Holmes led him out the door, "He is safe then?"  
  
"Quite, although I am sure that he is on the edge of a nervous breakdown..."  
  
Jon laughed a little and managed to stand on his own two feet again by the time they reached the pavement, not knowing exactly what to say. Despite the flat, matter-of-fact way in which Holmes had spoken to him, he could not remember hearing such kind and welcomed words in his whole life. The cold realization was replaced with a warm confusion, which Holmes noticed immediately and began to walk briskly down the street back towards the main road, "I have many important matters to attend to today, so the sooner we get back to Baker's Street the better..." Jon nodded and followed the detective out of the alley and back out onto the street.  
  
***  
There was a loud knocking on the door of 221B Baker's Street, and Watson let out a cry of surprise as Holmes walked briskly past him, followed by a tottering Jon. Watson rushed forward and caught Jon just as he was tipping over and led him over to one of the chairs. Holmes nodded to Watson, "As you can see, I was able to find Jon after all. He is a little worn, but seems unharmed..." Jon frowned, hating being talked about in the third person, but felt too tired to say anything, "I was also able to apprehend Bowmer but Streicher is still free, so I am going to go try to search out some new information. I will be gone till late tonight." With that, Holmes turned on his heels and walked quickly out of the room.  
  
Watson sighed and turned his attention back to Jon. From his long experience with medicine, it looked as if Jon had gotten into a bit of trouble with Bowmer, "I am glad to see that you are all right. I was truly very worried about you...but what happened to your wrists?"  
  
Jon turned his palms over so that his wrists were showing and grimaced, quickly turning them back over again, "My ropes were a little tight, that's all..."  
  
"It looks more like they were tying a tourniquet than ropes! The entire first layer of the skin has been worn off! And I must say that you have quite a few nasty bruises on your head, and look here are more on your back! What in heavens name were they doing to you..."  
  
"Not much actually, you know, besides tossing me into closets...actually, the head bruises are probably my fault..."  
  
Watson raised his eyebrows but didn't ask any more questions as he began to dress Jon's injuries. When he was done, he stood up, observed his work and nodded, "That should do it..."  
  
Jon looked down at his body. His wrists and the top part of his hands were completely wrapped up, "I feel like a mummy..."  
  
"Well, I must admit that you look a bit like one too, but I insist that you keep all of those on. They will help to keep things from rubbing against your cuts and keep them from becoming infected. I couldn't do much for the bruises I'm afraid, because they heal best if let to themselves for the most part. Try not to move around too much though, or else you may end up hurting yourself again. Your body is exhausted and I think that you had better get some rest."  
  
Jon glanced out the window, "But it's the middle of the day!"  
  
"Not for you it isn't, now go to sleep! I have drugs to help you if you need them..."  
  
Jon leaned back into the soft chair and felt sleep over take him, "I don't think...I'll...be...needing...those..."  
  
Watson nodded, walked over to the windows and drew the curtains shut, then quietly walked into the next room and soon he was able to hear the soft sound of Jon snoring in the other room. He smiled to himself, glad to have his conscious finally clear. They wouldn't need Jon's help for the rest of the case, so they wouldn't have to be risking his life anymore either, which sat very well with the doctor. He settled back into his own chair in the kitchen and happily began to read the daily paper and waited patiently for Holmes to return.  
  
A/N: Hmm...a peaceful moment...*sigh*...We'll see how long that lasts...*evil grin* 


	9. Back to the docks

A/N: Whee! I get to write again, and I get to not do homework again! Yay! Enjoy!  
  
***Holmes's Adventure***  
Sherlock slipped through the shadows as easily as his disguise would allow and gazed around anxiously at the busy street. He was made up as a poor traveler so that others wouldn't be suspicious if he was found "overhearing" one of their more interesting conversations. He didn't have an informant yet, so he had decided early on that it would be best to find one, and quickly. Time was of the essence and he wanted to catch Striecher before he had a chance to escape town. With that final thought on the matter, he slouched down and slowly slipped into the busy street.  
  
***Baker Street***  
  
Jon awoke slowly from a nice dream, a phenomena that happened so infrequently that he was momentarily forgot who he was. He shook his head clear and straightened up in the armchair. He didn't know how long he had been asleep for but his back was aching like hell and his head was ringing. What was he doing again? Oh ya, being kidnapped and rescued. He sighed and rested his head in his hands, trying to wipe the embarrassing moment from his mind. How could he have been so stupid? How could he not think up an escape plan and wait like a baby for someone to come to his rescue?! How was he going to pay his rent!?! His head snapped up and he swore lightly. He had forgotten about getting fired. This wasn't good. That job was the only thing keeping his life afloat and he had blown it...but there was still a chance. Maybe the boss was so drunk in the bar that he wouldn't remember!  
  
Jon stood up and walked around Holmes's house looking for someone to tell that he was leaving. It would be best to leave as soon as possible so he could head to the docks and try to get his job back. The sun was already beginning to set and the work stopped an hour past dusk. He passed through the study and into the kitchen. No body was there. But he could have sworn that he had heard Watson go in there. He waked back out into the front hallway and glanced around, and spotted a piece of paper on the table near the door. He picked it up and scanned it. It was to him from Watson, saying that he had left for the night, but that Jon was welcome to stay as long as he liked.  
  
Jon smiled to himself, and scribbled a little note on the backside of the paper with a pen that he found lying next to it: "Watson (and/or Holmes)- I'm going home. If you need me for anything else, you can look for me at the docks, or if not there, then begging on the street corner." Jon grimaced. He really hoped it would not come to that; he had too much pride to lower himself that much... "Thank you for your hospitality but I have work to do. -Jonathan" Jon stared at his note for a moment. It seemed unfinished somehow. After a minute, he smirked and added on, "-Jonathan Moriarty".  
  
As he set the paper down and stepped out the door into the refreshing late afternoon air, he felt happy for some reason, as if a weight had been taken off his shoulders, a secret had been revealed and he no longer had to hide it from others or from himself. He was a Moriarty, whether he liked it or not, but for some odd reason, he did like it. It explained something inside of him that had baffled him for the last five years, explained his own mystery, and he liked knowing the answers to any mystery.  
  
He walked through the streets of London at a brisk pace, trying to make up for lost time that he had spent sleeping and finally made it to the docks just as the moon began to rise over the smoke laden horizon. Jon only had to look around once to spot his old boss Cunders. He took a deep breath, then sauntered over to the man, "Oi, Cunders! How goes things?"  
  
The large man rounded on him with a look of frustration in his eyes, "Where have you been all day and yesterday?! We were short two people and you never showed up! What the hell were you doin'?!"  
  
Jon smiled to himself and made a mental note that Cunders was a very forgetful person when drunk, and easily slipped into a lie. "Well, you see, I was planning on coming in early yesterday but I ran into a little trouble. I was mugged on my way down here, but I didn't have any money on me, so the guy kidnaps me, right? And so I find that I am stuck with some loony for a day and a half, tied up and the whole bit. But finally, the police of all people come and arrest the fellow, and one of them finds me in the closet and they take me in to be questioned, and they didn't let me go till dusk and then I hurried over here as quick as I could."  
  
Cunders narrowed his eyes, "You expect me to believe that?"  
  
Jon glanced around, "Um, ya..."  
  
The man stared at him a little longer before making a small grunting noise and turning his back on Jon, "Just make sure it don't happen again!"  
  
"Oh, don't worry..." Jon turned around and headed for the nearest dock to begin hauling in crates, "...I will..."  
  
***Back at Bakers Street, the next day***  
  
Watson sighed as he approached the door to 221B, took off his hat, and rapped lightly on the door. He heard footsteps headed coming over to the front door and finally Holmes opened it up and let Watson inside with a wave of his hand. The detective closed the door shut tightly and walked over into the study and took a seat in his normal chair, "What brings you over here so early Watson?"  
  
"I was just curious about whether the boy accepted my invitation or not and by the looks of things, I would say that he hasn't."  
  
"You're right Watson. When I arrived back here at nine o' clock he was gone, but he did leave you, and me, this lovely note of appreciation. I wanted to talk to you Watson, about your habit of inviting people to stay in my house..."  
  
Watson read the letter, sighed again, and looked back up at his friend, "Well I wasn't about to let the poor lad trudge home to heaven knows what. He was exhausted and I had no idea when he was going to wake up...I felt that the decent thing to do would be to let him stay here again. Besides, you didn't really mind it the last time, did you?"  
  
"Not as long as I will never have to do it again in my life. Moving on...I learned some interesting new fact about Mr. Streicher yesterday. It seems that he has had many problems lately with Moriarty and that this last mission was some sort of last test. Luckily for him, Streicher passed it, but just barely. I wasn't able to find out where he lives, but I was able to discover where about he works, and I'm sure the answer will interest you Watson..."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Moriarty's base of operation, for the moment anyway, is located in the main London harbor."  
  
Watson frowned and thought for a moment. Why would that interest him? Holmes watched his friends face as he thought about it. Watson's eyes drifted around the room as he thought, and finally they fell upon the paper in his hands, and the answer struck him, "That's where Jon works, isn't it?"  
  
Holmes smiled and nodded, "Yes, I believe so. I'm afraid that Jon isn't through with us quite as soon as he thought he would be."  
  
Watson shook his head sadly, "Poor boy...I wonder how he will react when he learns that they have been under his nose the entire time..."  
  
Holmes leaned in towards Watson, "I'm not so sure he doesn't know Watson..."  
  
"Holmes! You can't be serious!"  
  
"I am very serious Watson...Even if I am just making a unproven guess, I just want you to understand how risky the part that Jon is playing in this case is becoming. As long as Moriarty is anywhere near the docks, even if he is working with his son, he is not safe. Don't look at me like that Watson, I am telling you this because I believe that you have the right to know, not because I am trying to scare you, or something ridiculous like that...I only want you to be ready for whatever happens next and to try and think of this case just as you would any other, and not get attached to it..."  
  
Watson looked down at his shoes, "I will try my best Holmes, but it is a little too late for that lecture..."  
  
"It is never to late! Now, I promised my other client that I would see him again today. I made the meeting while you were away and am afraid to say that I had really hoped that this other case would've been wrapped up by now, but people keep messing everything up!"  
  
Watson nodded and stood up, "Should I leave then?"  
  
"Heavens no! Stay here! That young man is as dull as a brick, and about as well-rounded too...I will need you to keep me in check, for I am afraid last time I was getting quite frustrated with him. He has a horrid memory and it is almost impossible to dig out the simplest, most obvious fact from his mind about who might want to his uncle's will and who has a motive to change it."  
  
Watson smiled and sat back down in his chair as he heard a knock at the door, "Well, at least he is punctual."  
  
Holmes grimaced and stood up, adjusted his robe before he stood up, "The worst part of allowing Mrs. Hudson to take a holiday is that I have to answer to door..." Watson just smiled wider and shook his head happily as Holmes showed his guest into the study.  
  
A/N: No! I have to go back to doing homework! Life is so unfair...*sniffle**grinz* Anyways, if you read this chapter, please review! I don't care what you right, comments, questions, whatevers (as long as they're not too harsh...), I just like to know how many people are actually reading my story! 


	10. The New Plan

***Bakers Street***  
  
After their meeting with Mr. Bruse, Holmes' other client at the moment, Watson hurried out of the room and out the front door. Holmes stood up and called out after him in a stern voice, "Where are you going Watson?"  
  
"To go call a cabby! We must get down to the docks and warn Jon about the danger he is in!"  
  
"Watson get back in here, and sit down. I'll send for someone else to call us a cabby, besides, I doubt very much that Jon is at the docks still..."  
  
"Do you mean to say that Moriarty has already gotten a hold of him?"  
  
Holmes pursed his lips, "...No, I mean to say that he has probably already headed home for the night. Really Watson, you shouldn't be quite so worried, it will be bad for your health...but we will talk to him tonight."  
  
Watson nodded and sunk back into his armchair as Holmes called a cabby up, and then motioned for Watson to get up. Once they were seated inside, Holmes turned to the doctor, "First, we will head to Scotland Yard to find out where he lives. No doubt they have at least a small file of information on young Jonathan, even if he doesn't realize it. Sometimes, the police almost surprise me with how much personal information they keep locked up. It's a shame they don't use it more often!"  
  
Watson shook his head at Holmes' cynical tone, "You know very well that they always try their best..."  
  
"Of course they do, sometimes their best is just not good enough though, but I suppose that's what I am here for, isn't it? Anyway, we've arrived Watson. Stay here while I go get the address. There's no point in both of us having to get up!" With that, Holmes stepped out of the cabby and walked briskly up the stone stairs to the main building of Scotland Yard.  
  
A few minutes later he returned looking rather pleased, and as he climbed back into the cab he explained to Watson, "Well, it seems that the London police have actually come through for us! Not only did they have his address, but they also told me that he is paying rent to a woman named Meredith Wyser..."  
  
As the carriage began to move again towards the poor district of town, Watson raised his eyebrows in surprise, "My goodness, they have all that information on him already for witnessing a crime?"  
  
"Well actually Watson, it seems that our young friend's record isn't exactly spotless. From the papers that I glanced at, it seems that Jon has been arrested for shoplifting twice and pick-pocketing three times most of which were from at least three years ago, although the reports also state that he has been rumored to have done each many more times that what he had been caught for, but there were just no witnesses."  
  
"Are you quite serious? And here I was imagining that he was just a poor unfortunate that was just dragged into this case by some twist of fate...But I suppose it still wasn't his fault after all..."  
  
Holmes smirked a little, "Who knows? Maybe this little adventure that he is having will build up some character!"  
  
Watson chuckled and slipped his hat back on head as the driver pulled over to the side of the road and both men stepped out. The doctor raised his eyebrows and gazed around. They were in the poor district all right, and they were also sticking out like a sore thumb from all the dirt and grime that seemed to be everywhere.  
  
Holmes seemed to have read his mind and pulled Watson down the alley that the police reports had said Jon lived down and said softly, "Don't worry too much about our appearances. In this stage of the game, it is almost to our advantage if we don't blend in. After all, we want this Mrs. Wyser to take us seriously."  
  
Watson nodded and followed Holmes to a door tucked far back in the dark alleyway and listened as the detective rapped on the door, "Mrs. Wyser, are you home? We have some business that we would like to discuss with one of your tenets..."  
  
***Jon's Point of View***  
He was resting on his bed, face sunk deep into his pillow, when he heard a loud knock on the door. He sighed furiously, because this was the third time in a row that he had been just about to fall asleep but something had interrupted him. He grabbed his shirt that he had taken off earlier so he could sleep easier and pulled it over his head so that he couldn't hear the noises anymore. He smiled happily and was just about to drift off when there was a violent knock on his bedroom door, almost sending the piece of wood flying off its hinges.  
  
He threw his shirt back onto the floor and stumbled over to the door grumbling and fumbling with his belt, trying to refasten it. When he reached the door, he ran his fingers quickly through his hair to brush it, and yanked it open. There, standing in his doorway was a very irate looking Mrs. Wyser. She took several paces towards him and grabbed his shoulders with her thin, claw like fingers, "You called the police?!"  
  
"What? No I didn't! What are you talking about?"  
  
"There are two men sitting downstairs that say that they have business with you, but they look like cops to me, rich folk at least...So, what did you do?!"  
  
"I didn't do nothing! Get your hands off me..." He shrugged her fingers off and glared at her, "Did they tell you their names?"  
  
"One of them's named Holmes...can't remember the other fellow's name, though they both sounded familiar..."  
  
Jon raised his eyebrows and pushed past the old woman, slid down the shaky banister and entered the room to find Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson sitting in Mrs. Wyser's overstuffed armchairs. He blinked several times as they heard him enter and turned around and finally said, "What are you doing here? I told you everything I know already..."  
  
Holmes nodded briskly and stood up, "We know, but there is something else that you must now do for us, just for the sake of simplicity. Come, we'll take you back to my house and we'll discuss it there...but go up and grab a shirt before you go."  
  
Jon frowned and stayed where he was, rooted to the spot with suspicion, "What do you want?"  
  
Watson joined Holmes and gave Jon a reassuring smile, "We just need you for one last thing Jon..."  
  
The boy narrowed his eyes, but jogged back upstairs, grabbed his shirt and ran back down to find Holmes and Watson standing by the door. Holmes began to open the door, "Well, let's go then, if you are ready."  
  
Mrs. Wyser came up from behind Jon and, feeling her stare boring into the back of his head, he turned around and sighed, "Look, I don't know when I'll be back all right?"  
  
"Like you ever do...fine, go then! It's not like I care..."  
  
Jon rolled his eyes and pushed Watson and Holmes out the door and closed it firmly behind them when they had all made it outside.  
  
Holmes turned to Jon as they began to walk out to the street where he could see a buggy waiting for them, "Well she certainly was a lovely woman..."  
  
"Sure she is...if your into devils and witches..."  
  
Watson gave him a curious look as the three stepped into the carriage, "Is she...related to you in any way?"  
  
"I certainly hope not! No, There would be nothing I would like better than to leave that old hag, believe me..."  
  
Holmes smirked as they started moving quickly down the street, "Oh, I do..."  
  
A/N: ...Um, sorry it took so long for me to update...I'm trying my best I promise!!! Hmm...anyways, I'll try to update ASAP next time...:) 


	11. Putting It Into Action

A/N: Sorry 'bout the formatting! That's a stupid mistake that I'll try not to make again...*slams head on table*  
  
***Baker Street***  
  
The driver stopped the cabby and the three stepped out and walked quickly up the stairs to 221B, and Holmes briskly waved Jon inside, where he sat down on the rug in front of the extinguished fire. Watson and Holmes took their usual seats and began to settle themselves in. Holmes took out his pipe, and Watson searched the area for the day's newspaper, and once he found it, spread it across his lap and began to read the front page. Jon sighed and played with the ashes in the fireplace with the poker, "So, I guess Mrs. Hudson ain't back yet, huh?"  
  
Holmes shook his head, and Watson looked up curiously, "Now how did you figure that?"  
  
Jon turned to the doctor and raised his eyebrows, "Well, this fire's been cold for nearly half a day, she wasn't here when you two came in, and I saw that the trash has been piling up in the bin."  
  
Holmes nodded, "It's true, I never have enjoyed taking out the garbage, but you also should have noticed the envelope on the side table address to me with Mrs. Hudson's name on the return address and the letter next to it saying that she would be back tomorrow..."  
  
Watson rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the newspaper to let the other two go at it again.  
  
Jon frowned, "Well excuse me! I didn't know I was supposed goin' to be tested today..."  
  
"You are always being tested, always. Now, back to business. We need your assistance again with the same case you were working on earlier with us, I believe that you are familiar with the situation?"  
  
"How could I forget?"  
  
"That's exactly the problem." Jon gave him a confused look, "Well, after you left, we learned something of great importance that I believe might be of some interest to you."  
  
"And that would be...?"  
  
"That you may still be in danger."  
  
"And that would be news to me why?"  
  
"Because of who wants to get to you. Now that you have worked with us, you are on a whole new level of endangerment. There is now an entire network of villains out there that plan very delicate, specific operations, and you have helped us take one down, and now they want you dead."  
  
"O-kay...I guess I'll just have to start watching my back around town then, but that still hasn't explained why you want me here."  
  
"If you would let me finish, I would! Now, these people are much closer to you than you think..."  
  
Watson sighed and looked up at Holmes, "Oh, just tell him already!"  
  
Holmes sighed at the interruption, "It would be best for him if he figures it out for himself!" Watson shook his head and Holmes turned back to Jon, "As I was saying...Since you are in close contact with these people daily, we want you too keep an eye on them for us, and give us any information that you might have on them."  
  
Jon's frown turned into a scowl, "Well, I ain't gonna do you no good, if ya won't tell me who the hell wants me dead!"  
  
Holmes smiled, leaned back in his chair, and began to smoke on his pipe, "Figure it out then!"  
  
Jon sighed in exasperation, and flopped down onto the rug. Well, Holmes had said that he comes in contact with them everyday. Where did he go everyday? Home? No, he could hardly imagine Mrs. Wyser working for an underground network of thugs...Wait a minute, he worked everyday. It must be someone he worked with at the docks! But most of the people there were too stupid to read a book, not to mention put a complex and "delicate" operation into motion...He shook his head and looked back up at Holmes who was waiting rather expectantly, "Well, I can't figure it out. It's someone at the docks, right? I dunno who it is though, too many people there."  
  
Holmes nodded, "That's close, but you are still missing a big hint. Would we really keep you at the job you have now if you were that close to being hurt? Well, Watson wouldn't anyway..." Watson chuckled a little and turned the page of the newspaper.  
  
"Okay, so it's someone at the docks, but I don't work with them, so it must be someone at another pier..." While he thought out loud, he watched Holmes' face for any clues, but it was as blank as stone, "Maybe the pier next to ours...the one for the expensive shipments, smarter people work there, smart people that could have a double life..."  
  
Holmes sighed, "I feel that that is as close as we are going to get...Jon, you were right about the pier next to you, and you even picked the right one, but you should pay more attention to who is working at the other piers. If you had, you would've noticed that there was a certain Mr. Streicher and another man named Jim Steward, a name that Moriarty uses time to time as a false name. You should have seen that in the file that you rifled through the first time I let you spent the night. Yes, of course I noticed, don't look so surprised. After all this, I believe you owe me a little credit. Jon, if you haven't made the connection yet, Moriarty was also the man who wanted to have Sir Cullington murdered, as shown by the initials J.S. on the bottom of the letter that you found on Cullington's person after his death." Jon froze. He hadn't shown anyone that letter! Unless...Holmes smiled, "When you returned here from after your kidnapping ordeal and took a nap, it slipped out of your pocket and fell to the ground. I of course picked it up, and you can imagine my surprise at having found such a concrete piece of evidence and that you hadn't told either Watson or myself."  
  
Jon shrugged, embarrassed that he had committed such a stupid act as letting the letter fall from his pocket. "Ya well, I needed my own ammo..."  
  
"As I had suspected you had. Now, will you help us or not."  
  
Jon sighed. They sounded as if they could really use his help as a spy. But this time, he was going to make it worth his while, "What's in it for me?"  
  
Holmes raised an eyebrow, although he did not looked surprised, only shooting Watson a look before saying, "Well, I suppose we could pay you..." Jon smiled to himself. He could really use the money. He was about to agree when the detective continued, "Or, we could just say help us this one last time or we will turn you in to the police for withholding evidence for an investigation. Yes, I think I'll go with the latter option..." A bubble of happiness burst inside Jon's chest and he deflated, extremely put out. They were blackmailing him! He turned to Watson to get some support but the doctor only shrugged and immersed himself in the newspaper page that Jon could have sworn that he already read five times now.  
  
The boy sighed and glared at Holmes. He hated being made a fool of more than anything in the world, "Fine...Whatever...Can I get back home so I can sleep for an hour before I have to get up again for my ten hours of daily hard labor with a bunch of thieves and murders now?"  
  
Holmes just smiled, "Of course. I told the cabby to wait, so it should be outside to take you home. Don't forget to come here after you finish your work to tell us what you've found out!"  
  
Jon grumbled all the way to the door, which he slammed on his way out. He stormed by the cabby and kept on going down the sidewalk, "I'd rather walk..." The driver shrugged and drove off to pick up someone else.  
  
Meanwhile, back in the house, Holmes laughed to himself, stood up and stretched. Watson frowned and put the newspaper he had been pretending to read down, "That wasn't very nice Holmes..."  
  
"Of course it wasn't! But what I am doing instead of being nice to him is turning him into a real detective. It would be a shame to see all those brains of his to go to waste..." Watson leaned back and donned a thoughtful expression. Holmes frowned, "What is it?"  
  
"Oh, nothing. It is all just very peculiar..."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"How the tutor taught the pupil and now the pupil is teaching the son of the tutor...Very interesting..."  
  
"Are you implying that I am doing what Moriarty did to me?"  
  
"Well, it can't be much different, now can it?"  
  
"Hmm...You may be right. Ah well, I suppose what goes around comes around. I just hope that young Jon won't share the same fate his father did. I'd best be careful of what I teach him..."  
  
"Do you think that someday he'll use it against you?"  
  
"I don't know. The boy has promise, but he knows it...He has too much faith in his own abilities Watson. I'm just trying to show him that he doesn't know everything."  
  
"You just want someone else who will pose a challenge to you without having them become an evil genius Holmes..."  
  
"Perhaps you are right. But why are we talking of such things anyway? We have a case to worry about!"  
  
Watson sighed, "So, what is our next move?"  
  
"To wait for Jon to return tomorrow. Hopefully, after today, he will think that it is impossible to hide anything from me and tell me all the details he noticed willingly."  
  
"Is it impossible?"  
  
"I don't know, I suppose that is not up for me to decide though, now is it? Anyway, he is the first option to observing Moriarty and Streicher. If he is unable to do it, I will have to do it myself."  
  
"Why didn't you just do that in the first place?"  
  
"I would be to out of place, even with my best disguise. The docks are full of all the workers they need, especially around this time of year, and no one goes looking there for work in these months. If I applied for a job, Moriarty and Streicher would become immediately suspicious and I could be revealed."  
  
"I suppose that sending Jon is the best thing to do then, when you put it that way..."  
  
"Of course it is! If there were any way that I could get in undetected I would. Watson, you know that I like working alone on cases, and Jon would certainly not be my first choice for a partner to work with, but for now, I have promised myself that we will deal with him, and then let him go back to his normal life..."  
  
"Which there will not be much left of by the time we are through with him."  
  
"No, I suppose not. But I believe that he will be glad that he was intertwined into all of this all the same. He enjoys it, enjoys the challenge..."  
  
"Just like his father always did?"  
  
Holmes nodded and put the pipe back into his mouth, "...Just like his father always has...". 


	12. Investigating

***The next morning...***  
  
Jon sat up in his bed and rubbed his face with his hands, yawned widely, and scratched the back of his head. What an event yesterday night had turned out to be...he blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the soft glow of the sunrise coming through his window and threw off his covers, then jumped up, ran across the freezing floor and pulled on some socks and his pants, followed shortly by his shirt, his boots, and his jacket. He rubbed his hands together, trying to stay warm and jogged downstairs, passed quickly by Mrs. Wyser, who had been asleep when he got home last night, and walked outside.  
  
As he walked down the street, he managed to snatch an apple off a passing merchant cart as it wheeled by and took a bite, thinking about what he was going to do. Was he really going to sink down to the level of a victim of blackmail and do what Holmes told him too? Jon thought about it for a long time and finally came up with an answer just as he rounded the corner and began to walk out onto the docks. Yes, he would. He would have done it even if Holmes hadn't threatened him...Dammit...He kicked a pebble into the water. He hated it when he did that.  
  
He waved at Cunders who just nodded back, rolled up his sleeves, and began to help unload a cargo ship that had just docked, making sure that he was facing towards the pier next to them so he could keep an eye on things. As he was struggling trying to unload a huge crate two times his sizes, Jon happened to glance over at the pier, just in time to see someone disappear inside the factory at the end of it. His heart skipped a beat, but unfortunately his crate went sliding off the boat and landed with a loud crash onto the dock. He winced and ducked behind another crate as Cunders came storming over and blamed another worker for it, who of course refused but was stuck with the blame anyway. Jon peered over the box and watched as the man walked away with Cunders, probably to talk about pay cuts.  
  
Jon heaved a sigh of relief and turned back to the next pier. The heavy metal door looked like it was firmly shut, and smoke had begun to rise from its pipes. He glanced shiftily around, took another glance at the receding back of his boss, and quickly slipped off the barge and down onto the lower dock. He dodged through the shadows and coon came up to the factory pier. With his heart thumping in his chest, he slunk over the platform and made his way over to the building and moved over to the door.  
  
He frowned as he spied a huge padlock attached to it and was about to turn away when he decided that it would be a good idea to pull on it anyway. And to his surprise...it was still locked. He scowled at the accursed thing, and then spotted a window about two stories up. It was open and just wide enough for a skinny person such as himself to squeeze through.  
  
Jon grinned happily and climbed quickly up a huge stack of cargo crates that lined the side of the factory until he ran out of boxes and found that he was still a good one to two meters away from the window. He frowned uncertainly and tested the boxes to see if they would hold his weight. Discovering that they were pretty stable, he leapt up at the window, and just managed to grab onto the sill with three fingers of his left hand. He was about to let go and try again when the stack of boxes wavered and fell out from beneath his feet. He swore and struggled to get a firm grip with his right hand, not particularly wanting to fall about ten meters.  
  
He had been able to hoist his body up and was just about to pull his legs through, when the side door swung open and a man came out to see what was going out. Jon heard the door swing open and waved his hands in the air, trying to pull his legs through so that whoever it was wouldn't find half a body sticking out of the window. He was actually able to do it and jumped down to a catwalk inside the building that was hanging over rows of packaging and processing machinery. He heard the side door slam again, and watched pressed against the wall as a man walked in and over to a large room in the far side of the factory. Peering closer, Jon was able to recognize the man immediately. It was Striecher, that bastard that had almost shot him! So Holmes was right after all...Jon frowned. It wasn't fair, he was always right.  
  
He scrambled on his hands and knees cautiously down the catwalk, trying to ignore the thunderous grinding noises of the machines below him and followed Striecher from above, watching curiously as the man as he strode over to another guy who was sitting in a chair set along the wall reading a book with his feet set up on a small desk. He tried to listen in on their conversation but the whirring of the machines completely drowned it out. Jon shook his head and carefully made his way back over to the window again, and sat on the edge, just then remembering that he had knocked the boxes over. He kicked himself mentally and looked desperately around. There was no way that he was going back in, not from the way he had positioned himself on the sill, so there was really only one option.  
  
Jon glanced around for a soft landing, wishing for a cartload of hay or clothes. However, the only thing he was able to spot was a cartload of garbage. He slouched his shoulders, then sighed and rolled his eyes. The things I do for the case...He leapt down and flailing his arms through the air, landed ungracefully in the pile of trash. He shook a piece of old lettuce off his head and climbed out of the cart, brushing off his coat and pants, and his hair.  
  
He was about to walk back to his pier to get back to work, when the man who had gotten stuck with the blame for his mistake earlier saw him, pointed, and shouted for Cunders. Jon swore again and slapped his forehead as his boss rushed over and even from that far away, a sinking feeling fell into Jon's stomach as he watched Cunders' face grow red and yelled out his name. He heaved a sigh, stuck his hands deep into his pockets and walked sullenly over to the pier. Holmes was going to be sorry for this...  
  
***That night, at 221B Baker Street***  
  
Holmes sat next to the fire in a robe puffing on his pipe while Watson sat in his favorite armchair reading a book that he had uncovered in Holmes' collection about the British exploration of India, and nearly fell out of his chair when the front door slammed and a very irate looking Jon stalked into the room.  
  
Holmes raised his eyebrows, "I expected you to be here an hour ago. Come then, what did you find out?"  
  
A flush appeared on the fifteen year old's face, "Oh, excuse me! I was just discussing a pay cut with my boss, who decided to give it to me after a rat snitched me out after seeing me fall from a second story window!"  
  
Watson wrinkled his nose, "What is that rancid stench?"  
  
Jon scowled, "That's the garbage that I had to land in."  
  
Holmes tried to his a small smile, "Well you shouldn't have gotten caught in the first place. Now, what did you learn."  
  
Jon sighed, giving up for the time being, "Well, for starters, I learned that Striecher really is working at the factory, just like you said he was...and not much else..."  
  
Holmes frowned, "Well, what was he doing there?"  
  
"Nothing really, he just walked inside, spoke to another man, but I couldn't hear what they were saying so I left."  
  
"Did you go back afterwards?"  
  
"I couldn't! Cunders was watching me like a hawk! I couldn't even blink without him noticing."  
He raised an eyebrow, "It is not my fault you made a mistake. Now, tomorrow you will go back there and learn something that will be of some use to us."  
  
The flush appeared again, "I won't do nothing more for you!"  
  
Watson frowned concernedly, "Are you sure? Don't you remember Holmes' threat?"  
  
"Ya, but I don't care. It's not worth it..."  
  
Holmes smiled, "Are you sure?"  
  
Jon turned to him surprised, "What?"  
  
"Why, I had just thought that you would like the chance of helping to solve this case. But we do not necessarily require you to do the investigation yourself if you are afraid of getting caught..."  
  
Jon scowled, "Now wait a minute, I didn't say I was afraid..."  
  
Holmes interrupted him before he could rant on, "Tomorrow you can take Watson and I to the docks and help us get onto the pier. We will take it from there."  
  
Watson nodded thoughtfully, "That would actually work out much better. Holmes, you would be able to get a first-hand encounter with the situation and the case will be solved sooner, and Jon, you will not have to fear losing your job."  
  
"I'm not afraid of losing my job...!"  
  
Holmes nodded briskly, and waved him out the door, "Of course you do not, but now, Watson and I have a lot of planning to do. You should head home and get some sleep, I have a feeling that tomorrow will be a big day for you."  
  
Jon was herded out the door and it closed quickly behind him. He shook his head angrily. But then realized that they had let him continue to work with them. A happy, strange, feeling rose into his chest and he scowled. They had given him what he wanted after all...that means he still couldn't hate them...Dammit...  
  
A/N: Well, I had fun with this chapter. Sorry it's mostly from Jon's POV, but I kinda had fun with it. Don't worry, the rest of the chapters won't be like this, I promise... 


	13. Caught

***Baker Street***  
  
It was an early wintry morning, and a light mist was already begin to dampen the streets when Jon arrived just as the sun was peeking over the city. He rapped loudly on the door and found that it quickly swung open. Mrs. Hudson smiled happily despite the early hour and let him in. He nodded slightly and scooted into the warm study. She closed the door quickly to stop the cold air from getting in, "Go ahead on in, Mr. Holmes is waiting for you with Dr. Watson."  
  
"Um...thanks." She smiled and headed into the kitchen. He brushed some clinging droplets of water off his shoulders and headed into the next room where he found the two sitting exactly where he had left them, and wondering to himself if they ever moved, he continued to stand and cleared his throat. Watson turned to look at him and smiled towards him, "So you're here! Well, I believe that we are ready to go, Holmes?"  
  
The detective nodded, "Of course. So, John, I suppose you remember the quick sketch of a plan I came up with last night?" The boy nodded, "Good, good. Then I do not need to waste our time explaining it. Come on then, let's go. We have a busy day ahead of us." He herded both Watson and John out back out the door and down onto the street, where he had a cabby waiting for them.  
  
He got them into the carriage and nodded towards the driver, "Take us to the docks."  
  
The man nodded and urged the horses into a quick trot. Inside, Holmes settled back into his seat, looking very pleased, as if things were finally starting to come together, and pulled out his pipe, which he had stuck into his coat pocket. Watson stared out the window comfortably, but John wiggled around in his seat, anxious to get the day going, to see what would happen this time.  
  
When they reached the docks, John jumped out before the carriage came to a standstill and jogged over to where he signed in for the day. He got into the short line for workers and Watson and Holmes hurried over to catch up with him. Holmes drew up close so that he could speak with John without anyone else overhearing, "Listen carefully. We will get into the docks so do not be surprised if you see us sneaking around. A little before mid-day, when the workers take their break, come meet us over on the other dock, making sure not to get caught again, and you can show us the way into the factory. We will take it from there."  
Jon waved the detective away, "Ya, ya...I got it." He walked up to the sign-in table, scribbled his name down, then walked onto his pier and began to work right away. Watson sighed and shook his head, "That boy does have an attitude, doesn't he?" "Yes, and it is beginning to wear on my nerves...No matter though. Come Watson!" The two men got in line. When they reached the front, Holmes leaned closer to the man in charge, "Jeff, it is me. I talked to you yesterday, remember? Now how about letting my friend and I in?" Jeff scowled a little but let Holmes and Watson pass by. Watson caught Holmes's arm, "Now how did you manage that?" "Let me just say that you would be surprised how far a little persuasion goes, and also by how many informants I have. Look! There is the factory." Watson nodded and the two took off at a fast walk towards the other pier.  
  
***Meanwhile***  
  
John scowled and scuffed his boots on the wooden platform as he began to trudge towards the boat where the crew had just disembarked and where starting to unload. He was about there when someone grabbed him roughly from behind and slammed him against a wall.  
  
John struggled wildly, his arms and legs flailing in the arm, trying to make whoever had grabbed him let go. A body pressed his hard into the wall, and John gasped for breath as a voice said, "Don't ever try to pull a trick like that one yesterday on me again..."  
  
John's mind flew into action. It was the other man that had gotten blamed for when he let the crate slide. "Uh...okay, I won't."  
  
The boy felt a hand press into his spine and he began to tear up, "That's not go enough anymore. Ever since you started you seemed a little uppity for a boy as young as you are, and me and the others guys, we're kinda getting annoyed." John bit his lip to keep down a sarcastic remark and the man eased up on his back a little. "You had better watch yourself, 'cause some day you're gonna push us too far...We wouldn't want that to happen know would we?"  
  
John shook his head and the man let him fall to the ground in a heap, and walked away. John heaved air into his lungs and glared at the receding back of the man and muttered, "...Stupid caveman...someday you'll be the one who's sorry..." He rubbed his back tenderly, "I'm gonna feel that in the morning..."  
  
Just then, Cunders lumbered over just as the other man disappeared around the corner. 'Convenient...Rather too convenient,' thought Jon. The large man scowled at Jon, who quickly stood up, "What do you think you're doing?! Get to work!"  
  
He rubbed the back of his neck, and said rather sarcastically, "Yes sir...". But the sarcasm was lost on Cunders who stalked away. John growled under his breath and walked over to the docks to start working.  
  
***Later, at the factory***  
  
Holmes glanced around as he and Watson stood pressed against the side if the factory and furrowed his brow, "Where is that boy? He should have been here half an hour ago!"  
  
"Perhaps he had trouble getting away from his boss or the other dock workers?"  
  
"No, they are about as brilliant as rocks. It would not take very much to distract them. Ah! Here he comes!" Holmes motioned for John, who was panting, to come over, "Finally! Now that you have arrived, we can begin. I am assuming that you went in through the window, judging by the un- orderly pile of empty boxes beneath it, instead of using the door the last time you came. Am I correct?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Holmes nodded, "Of course. Unfortunately, I am afraid that it would be impossible for Watson and I to get through that small space, so you will have to go up again and unlock the door from the inside."  
  
"But there is a padlock on the door!"  
  
"Not today. My guess is that yesterday they got a shipment of illegal contraband and they needed the extra security."  
  
"Fine, but I still don't have a way to reach the window..." Holmes pointed to their left and John spotted a long ladder, "...Oh...".  
  
He grabbed the ladder and propped it up against the wall. Before he was about to climb up, Watson rested his hand on John's shoulder, "Listen, if there looks like there will be a problem for you when you reach the top, come back down."  
  
The boy nodded and began his assent to the window for the second time. When he reached the top rung, he was about nose height with the sill of the window. Gingerly, he pulled himself up and landed softly back on the catwalk.  
  
Today, the machines were silent, and he could just barely hear the sounds of footsteps echoing below. He walked as quietly as he could to above the side door, and spotted a ladder that led to the first floor near- by.  
  
He strained his ears to listen for any more sounds, and finding none, he slid down the ladder and landed with a soft thud onto the wooden floor. John froze, and after about five second of having his heart nearly burst from his chest from all the anticipation, finally got his body to move again, and ran over to the door and yanked it open.  
  
Holmes and Watson were waiting for him, and slipped inside. Watson slowly closed the door behind them, and Holmes looked around with an almost curious gleam in his eye, and whispered, somewhat to himself, "Well, well, well, it seems that someone has certainly been busy..."  
  
Watson smiled and began to follow Holmes as the detective slunk through the cavernous room, followed by a very edgy John, who felt his heart jump into his throat every time a board creaked. Their footsteps to him sounded like the pounding of thunder and so he almost had a heart attack when someone to their far left let out a sound of surprise and quickly headed for them. 


	14. Moriarty

Jon gave a yelp, and Holmes and Watson whipped around and pulled out the pistols they had tucked away in their coats. Jon frowned, wishing that he had one too, but didn't have anymore time to think about it as the man skidded to a halt, now only about ten meters away. Holmes didn't recognize him, so he was only a little irritated when he turned on his heels and scampered off, probably to go tell his superior about them. Holmes sighed, and motioned to Watson and Jon, "Come on! We do not have very much time!"  
  
Jon jogged next to him, easily keeping pace with the two men, "What do we do now?"  
  
Holmes scowled, not liking to be bothered at such a delicate part of the investigation, and snapped back, "We will stay silent so I can think!"  
  
Jon made a face at the detective (probably not helping Holmes' mood), and dropped back to jog with Watson as they hurried to the other side of the building. The boy was about to tell Holmes he was going in circles when he noticed the desk come into view. Holmes hurried up to it and began to riffle through the papers, muttering to himself, "...There must be something...Ah ha!" he pulled out a small note pad and scanned it quickly, "...Good...good...excellent!" Finally he turned back to Watson, and, much to his annoyance, ignored Jon, "Watson, we need to get out of here before someone else..."  
  
"Catches you?" The three froze and slowly turned around to come face to face with a very smug looking Striecher. "My, my, my, look what I have found lurking in our factory...Hand over the paper!"  
  
Holmes frowned at the man, "Why? You are just going to kill us anyway..." Jon and Watson began to follow the conversation like a tennis match, looking at Holmes, then back at Striecher, then to Holmes.  
  
Striecher shrugged his shoulder, but cocked his pistol, "You may be right, however, I do not think that you have much of a choice. Give me that paper and maybe I will let you live a few more minutes..."  
  
'No. I do not think I will."  
  
The man shook his head, "He told me you would not give me whatever you took..."  
  
Holmes narrowed his eyes, "Who told you?"  
  
"I did."  
  
Watson felt his stomach tighten as he glanced over his shoulder to see who had snuck up behind them. He recognized that voice, but he wished he hadn't.  
  
Holmes raised his eyebrows and smiled pleasantly, "Oh! Moriarty, so nice to see you again."  
  
"I am sure...I see you are still up to your old tricks."  
  
"Yes, I suppose I am." He glanced back at Watson, who met his glance, and read some kind of sign in them. Holmes turned back to Moriarty, "Well, it has been lovely seeing you again, and I hope the next time we get together, you will be behind bars. Run!"  
  
Watson grabbed Jon and the three suddenly began to sprint back towards the door As they ran, Jon felt bullets screaming over their shoulder and began to pick up his pace a little as one came within centimeters of hitting his shoulder.  
  
Watson yanked Jon behind a machine as the firing grew closer to hitting its mark, "He is getting closer!"  
  
Jon nodded, "So, what'd we do?"  
  
The doctor, breathing heavily, pushed Jon behind the row of machines and whispered, "Stay low! Don't let him see you, then he will get a better aim!"  
  
Jon moved forward, his heart pounding, wondering if this is what they went through on all their missions. They seemed so calm...well, relatively anyway...  
  
They rounded the corner and made a wild break for the door and met up with Holmes.  
  
He made it to the door first and tugged on the handle, then he turned back to Watson, the paper tucked into his coat, "It is locked from the outside!" He glanced around wildly, and without waiting for an answer, shoved the two others towards the ladder, "Hurry! Climb!"  
  
They obeyed quickly and Holmes' foot was on the last rung when Striecher arrived, his pistol aimed up at them. Watson pulled out his own gun again, steadied it, and fired with deadly aim at the man, who pitched backwards and grasped his forearm. Jon gazed, surprised, at Watson who smiled at him, "Spending half of the best years of my life in the military taught me a few things, one of which being how to properly shoot a gun."  
  
Jon grinned, but Holmes cut the bonding short, by pushing them towards the window that Jon had climbed through earlier to get them inside. The boy turned back to the detective, "But you said that you and Watson wouldn't fit through the window!"  
  
"I am sure we will manage under these circumstances, just move!"  
  
Jon frowned and passed easily to the other side of the window, and slid down the ladder, rubbing the wood burn off his hands when he reached the ground. Watson followed next, actually using the rungs, and then Holmes, who half slid, and half climbed down. The detective motioned again for them to follow and they had almost made it around the corner and to safety when they ran into Moriarty, waiting with a pistol in his hand, for them to meet him there.  
  
He smiled grimly, "Well Sherlock, it has been fun, matching wits with you all these years, but now, it is time for you to die." Watson tried to step in front of him, but Jon grabbed his arm and held him back. Moriarty turned his attention to them, "What a noble offer Watson, perhaps I will kill you first...or maybe this boy that you dragged along with you..."  
  
Jon felt a tightening in his throat and glared at Moriarty, "Why don't you just go to hell!"  
  
Moriarty raised an eyebrow, "And he is so rude to...yes, I think he can go first..."  
  
Holmes clenched his teeth, and to Jon's surprise, began to stand up for him, "Don't you know who this is? He is your son!"  
  
Moriarty turned his head towards his old student, "How stupid do you think I am. I know that! It is unfortunate, but he should have known better than to get in my way..." He turned back to Watson and Jon, "Now where was I? Oh yes..."  
  
He pointed his gun and pulled the trigger.  
  
A/N: Oh my god! Who did he shoot?! Did he miss or...not?!?!? WHAT HAPPENED?!?! *Hmm...I guess you won't find out till the next chapter...heh heh* Um, ya, Sorry about all the cliffhangers, but I feel like being dramatic... Anyways, thanks much inu lover and snowwolf for replying! I always enjoy feedback and/or encouragment! 


	15. Bringing it all Together

A/N: Sorry I kept you all waiting so long! I actually didn't mean to this time, but some serious things came up, and I didn't really have much of a choice...You must understand that I would have much rather been typing this story, but I just wasn't able to get to it...my apologies for leaving you all hanging...  
  
***Recap!***  
  
Moriarty turned his head towards his old student, "How stupid do you think I am. I know that! It is unfortunate, but he should have known better than to get in my way..." He turned back to Watson and Jon, "Now where was I? Oh yes..."  
  
He pointed his gun and pulled the trigger  
  
***Back to normal time***  
  
Jon shuddered and gasped in pain as the bullet shot clean through his left shoulder. He stumbled for a moment and took a step backwards, but it turned out to be one step to far. He slipped off of the edge of the pier and plunged into the icy seawater, its murky gray depths dragging him down as he struggled desperately to stay afloat.  
  
Watson gave a cry of alarm and rushed forward to the edge to try and catch him, but he wasn't fast enough, and had to watch helplessly as the boy disappeared beneath the waves. Holmes turned angrily to Moriarty whipped out his pistol, and aimed it at his nemesis before he had time to turn around, his voice raging, "How could you do such a thing?!"  
  
Moriarty shrugged, "It was not very hard...put the gun down Holmes, or I will shoot Watson next, and please, do not make the mistake that I will not shoot for the second time tonight."  
  
But Watson and Holmes, knowing each other to such a point that with a mere nod from Holmes and a plan would be put into action, had another idea. Watson dove out of Moriarty's range of fire, and Holmes quickly pulled the trigger of his own gun as Moriarty turned to make his next move. The man screamed and his gun fell from his hands as he grabbed his right forearm in pain from where the bullet had hit. Holmes scowled and aimed again, this time at his chest. But the criminal genius was also prepared and threw himself to the ground just as Holmes' bullet went shooting over his head, and scrabbled up onto his feet and around the corner.  
  
Holmes gave a growl of frustration and snapped back to Watson, "Go capture Striecher! I will go after Moriarty, but do not wait for me! Take him to Scotland Yard immediately!"  
  
Watson nodded and jogged off to do as he had been told and Holmes began to sprint after his enemy. He knew that he would be able to catch up with Moriarty, unless that is he found another form of transportation besides running on foot. He dashed around the factory and up onto the docks, and with his gun raised, he began to search the area, looking into all the alleyways and streets. The sun had begun to set, and the lowering light was casting long shadows everywhere that made it hard to see where someone might be hiding. Finally, Holmes slowed down and turned back to a dockworker that he had just past, "Did a man run past here a few minutes ago?!"  
  
"Besides you?...I don't remember seeing nobody runnin'..."  
  
Holmes muttered something under his breath and whipped off his hat in frustration, "Where the devil did he go?"  
  
"Who you looking for?"  
  
"A criminal and murder named Moriarty."  
  
The man frowned and scratched his head, "Ain't that the guy who was in the papers a few years ago?"  
  
Holmes shook his head, "I dunno, probably...Now, if you will excuse me, I have to get back to work." He quickly moved away, eager to be away from the worker, and having convinced himself that Moriarty had once again eluded capture, the detective began to search for any clues. He began to scower the area, but after a few hours, the only thing he was able to come up with were a few footprints in the mud that seemed to be made from his shoes, but they were all the way back by the front of the docks. Holmes sighed, rubbed his forehead, and made his way slowly back to his home on Baker Street to wait for Watson to return.  
  
***Watson's Turn***  
  
The doctor carefully made his way back towards the door of the factory, positive that Striecher was inside, for there was no other way out bedsides the door and the window, both of which were in plain sight. So as he listened to the receding pounding of Holmes' footsteps as he ran after Moriarty, Watson slipped into the factory with his pistol drawn out in front of him.  
  
Luckily, Striecher wasn't waiting for him at the door and he was able to sneak behind one of the smaller machines before he heard the soft clicking of shoes on the factory floor. Someone was coming closer! Watson leveled his gun on a flat part of the machine and waited for Striecher to come around the corner. As soon as he saw part of the man's body coming around the corner, he shot a bullet that hit directly into Striecher's side. The man screamed ('rather dramatically' Watson thought...) and fell to the floor, clutching his side as a small trickle of blood leaked out.  
  
Watson shook his head as he emerged, knowing full well that such a minor wound, that had probably only penetrated through some fat, wouldn't kill the man, or even cause lasting damage, didn't feel any pity as he walked over. He spotted some nearby rope and used it to secure the man's hands and tie them to a nearby metal pipe. Satisfied that Striecher wouldn't get away, he walked quickly outside to go get the police.  
  
In about half an hour, they police finally arrived, after Watson had to knock Striecher out so that he wouldn't escape, and they took the man into custody and took him to jail. Watson followed them in a cabby, just to make sure that nothing happened on the trip over, mostly so that if anything happened, he would be able to tell Holmes about it. He had a sneaking suspicion that Holmes hadn't been able to capture Moriarty, and that the man was still on the loose so he decided to be extra cautious.  
  
After everything at Scotland Yard had been settled and Watson's mind was able to think back, a dark depression began to sink over him as he remembered Jon sailing into the murky depths of the estuary. Watson sighed sadly as he stepped back into the cabby to drive back to Bakers Street. That boy had been all right, in the end...he had actually become very attached to him; it was sort of like having a close nephew. If only he hadn't been so bold with Moriarty, he might have not shot him...  
  
By the time the cabby pulled over and Watson stepped out, tears were pricking his eyes and when he walked in to 221B Baker Street, he immediately turned to Holmes, who was thinking in his armchair, "Oh Holmes! How could I have just left him there to die!? Why didn't I do something?"  
  
Holmes sighed and opened his eyes, his chin resting on his hands, "There was nothing you could do for him even if we had prepared for such a thing; it was unavoidable. Now, I am assuming that you caught Striecher?" Watson nodded sadly, "Good...As you probably have guessed by now, I was once again unable to apprehend Moriarty, but this time was unable to track him down. However, the good news is that Moriarty will have to close down his factory and come up with a new plan." He pulled out the paper he had taken from his coat pocket and handed it to Watson, "It is their ship's cargo list...They had been shipping in illegal contraband for about six months now. It seems that Cullington, the murdered man, had been involved with their company for a short while but wanted to get out. Earlier he had swore to Moriarty, or to his alias, Jim Steward, that he would never tell anyone about what he was doing. Unfortunately for Sir Cullington, he told his business partner who happened to be another of Moriarty's informants, so Moriarty had him murdered."  
  
Watson sighed and handed the paper back to Holmes, "Well, it sounds as if you have this case solved then..."  
  
Holmes frowned at his friend, opened his mouth to say something, but then decided against it. After a few minutes of rather uncomfortable silence, Holmes picked up his violin that was leaning up against his chair as began to play.  
  
***Meanwhile...***  
  
Jon sputtered awake, choking on the water that had filled his lungs. He rolled over onto his stomach and coughed into the dirt, the slimy feeling off mud covering his face. He moaned and tried to move, but felt a sharp pain shoot through his arm and decided that it would be easier just to lay there. Memories came flooding back to him, and he lifted his head out of the muck to try and see where he was.  
  
It was pitch black, and if it weren't for the full moon, he wouldn't have been able to see a meter ahead of him. It looked like he had washed up on the side of a shallow riverbank. He groaned and fell back onto the ground. Well, this was a little better than being sent out to the ocean...the current must have dragged him in and down the river instead.  
  
He tried to move again, just with his legs, and suddenly realized how cold and wet he was as the nerves in his body began to wake up. He began to shiver, which made him cough some more, so he had to fall back to the ground so he could support himself. He tried to look around again, now that his eyes were getting used to the darkness of night, and peered through his wet hair. He could just make out a building hovering over the edge of the riverbank, and if he listened hard enough, he noticed the clip clopping of horse hooves on cobblestone.  
  
He struggling wearily to his feet, but collapsed as he took a step and fell to his knees. He groaned and his body desperately wanted to just lie down and go to sleep, but he knew that if he spent the night out during the wintertime soaking wet, he would probably die of pneumonia. So he clenched his teeth, and forcing himself to forget anything about pride, began to crawl on his good hand and his knees up the small hill and into the alleyway that wrapped behind the building and that he hoped would lead to the street.  
  
He shook his head to try and rid himself of the dizziness that was beginning to overtake him, but only managed to make it worse and made him have to sit up against the wall of the building to catch his breath. Finally, he gathered up some more energy, and crawled down the side alley and out to the edge of the street.  
  
He gazed around happily, quite proud of himself for making it out that far and leaned up against the front of the business building for a break. The dizziness he had been fighting slowly returned and to his horror, he felt himself drifting off to unconsciousness again. 


	16. The End

A/N: Sorry about the incredibly long wait, and I could give all sorts of excuses for it, but I won't because I'm sure if you're reading this, you just want me to finish the story. But, one quick note before I start: this is the last chapter of Murder in the Shadows. Just in case you were curious. Now, on with the story!  
  
***  
As the sun slowly rose over the towering buildings of central London, the back door of one of the shops opened and a middle-aged woman stuck her head out and frowned. There were gathering rain clouds on the horizon, and that meant rain, and rain meant few customers. She sighed and grabbed her garbage from inside, and heaved the bag out and around to the front of the building so the workers could pick it up. As she rounded the corner, she let out a shriek and the bag fell from her hands. Sitting up against the shop was the body of a young man covered head to toe in river mud.  
  
Trembling, the woman approached it slowly, and prodded the boy gently. To her surprise, he wasn't hard and cold, and was definitely alive. Her heart went out to him and she kicked her bag to the side of the road and pulled the boy into the building through the front door and laid him out on a large wooden table.  
  
She heard the sound of her husband coming down the stairs and she rushed over to him, "Look! I found a boy outside our door! He looks half- frozen, the poor dear. Please, can you drop him off at the hospital on your way to work?"  
  
The man leaned over Jon and blinked, his eyebrows raised in surprise, "And you're sure he's alive?"  
  
"Yes, I'm sure."  
  
The man poked Jon's arm and the boy stirred a little and blinked his eyes open. He struggled to sit up and realized that he was surrounded by people. Strange people that he didn't recognize. Jon let out a little squeak of surprise and rolled off of the table trying to escape, only to fall face first onto the hard ground. He let out a small gasp of pain as the woman ran over and kneeled down beside him, "Don't move! You're going to be all right! My husband is going to take you to the hospital..."  
  
Jon shook his had violently, shuddered, and said hoarsely, "No, I don't wanna go...Let me go..." Everything was spinning and the ground kept lurching around, and it was hard for him to keep his balance.  
  
The woman frowned, helped Jon up, and sat him down on the table, "I will not just let you go back outside! You'll die of something or another, and I would feel responsible! You're in my house now, and I insist that you go to the hospital!"  
  
The man grabbed his wife's arm and pulled her away, "Listen, I think there's something wrong with this boy...I'm calling the police..."  
  
But Jon had heard, leapt shakily off of the table, and tried to run towards the door. That was the last thing he needed, to be bothered by the police. All he wanted was to go home, why wouldn't they just let him go home...  
  
The man jumped for him and grabbed him by the shoulders. Jon tried to escape and managed to kick the man several times before he was slammed against the wall with his hands behind his back. The man turned back towards the woman, who looked scared now, and nodded to her, "Go call for the police. I'll hold him here..."  
  
Jon struggled some more as he was pressed against a wall for the second time that week, but could only wait for the police to come and no doubt arrest him. But he wouldn't go easily...Than again, did he ever? The thought made him grin to himself, and he was caught off guard when a rougher hand grabbed him from behind and pushed him to the ground.  
  
Jon peered up into the face of a very large cop and felt his courage wither a little. The couple stood back a little as the policeman picked Jon up by the collar and stood him up, and asked him gruffly, "Who are you, and what happened to you?"  
  
Jon stammered, but closed his mouth, his usually quick mind moving to sluggishly for him to think of a lie. He stared blankly at the tall officer and a wave of nausea washed over him, and he shuddered and fell to the floor, trying desperately not to hurl.  
  
The man looked down at him in surprise and with a quick motion grabbed Jon's arm and hoisted him up, more gently this time, and pushed him outside the door. The officer turned back to the nervous couple and nodded, "I'll take him from here..."  
  
The two nodded and watched as the man closed the door behind him, put Jon in the cabby, and set off at a quick pace for Scotland Yard.  
  
***Scotland Yard***  
  
Detective Lestrade was sauntering down the hall of the police headquarters, enjoying the early morning air, when two nurses rushed past him and sped down an adjacent hallway. He raised an eyebrow curiously and followed them. There were often nurses and doctors running around when a prisoner was ill, but there was no one there that was sick, or so he thought.  
  
He walked into the side-room they had disappeared into and blinked in surprise. There was a cot open and a boy was lying in it. A very familiar looking boy, but it was hard to tell who it was because of the layers of dirt caked onto him. Lestrade peered around the room and caught sight of an officer, and he cleared his throat. The officer turned in surprise and nodded towards the detective, who asked, "Who is this?"  
  
"I'm not sure sir. I found him down a business street bothering a couple people. He's not doing to good though..."  
  
Lestrade took a step closer, and turned to the nurse, "What are his injuries?"  
  
One of the women stood up, straightened out her white blouse and shook her head, "Well, for the moment, he is unconscious. He is covered in small, shallow cuts and bruises, and he seems to be ill. He is soaking wet, and chilled to the bone, but something you might be interested in is a bullet wound in his left leg..."  
  
She pointed it out to him, and suddenly, Lestrade remembered where he had seen the boy before. He turned to the officer and said firmly, "Take him to the hospital immediately and see to it that he is well cared for. I will meet you there after I go pay a friend a visit..."  
  
The man nodded, and helped the nurses carry the boy outside while Lestrade walked out with them, but turned down another hallway, his mind buzzing. When Dr. Watson had taken Striecher in, he had seemed very upset about something, and Lestrade had inquired to the reason why he was so sad. Watson had told him that Jonathan, their young accomplice, had fallen off of a pier after being shot by Moriarty. But he had made it some how, barely, but still...the detective figured Watson should still know the good news.  
  
***221B Baker Street***  
  
Watson sighed and peered out the window out towards the darkening sky and the cold winter air. Holmes had already seen three different clients that morning, but none of them had captured his attention and so his thoughts had been left to drift. Holmes frowned, turned away from his current client, an elderly man who wanted advice on who was stealing his money, and stared at his friend, "Watson? Would you like something to drink? You are excused if you wish to retire to your room."  
  
"No, no...I am fine Holmes, please continue. I am sorry for the distraction."  
  
Holmes glanced doubtfully back at Watson, shrugged, and turned back to the man, and was about to suggest that he keep a better watch on his maids when their front door was slammed opened and something stepped inside. Holmes sighed, highly annoyed at the distraction and turned to face Lestrade with a scowl, "Excuse me detective! I am rather busy at the moment! I do have other clients than Scotland Yard you know!"  
  
Lestrade ignored the exasperated edge on his voice and settled himself down on the couch after closing the front door gently behind him, "I shall wait then..."  
  
Holmes frowned, quickly finished up with the old man, who thanked him heartily, and quickly took his leave.  
  
Holmes then turned sharply to Lestrade, who was leaning back on the couch nonchalantly and said, "Now, what is it that you wish to see me about that was so important that you couldn't have called or given notice before you arrived?"  
  
"I am sorry that I interrupted your work Holmes, but I have some rather good news for both you and doctor Watson here from the last case that you completed for us."  
  
Holmes sat up rather excitedly and Watson peered at the officer curiously. Holmes leaned closer, "Did Striecher give you any information on Moriarty's whereabouts?"  
  
"Well...no, not yet. But we did manage to find someone who you lost..."  
  
Holmes raised an eyebrow suspiciously, "There is no way that Moriarty would have allowed himself to be captured by a force as incompetent as the London police, so I am not quite sure who you are referring to."  
  
Lestrade scowled at the good-natured taunt, and shook his head, "No, I'm sure your not. It was the last person I expected to find in a cell in Scotland Yard anyway. Actually, one of our men was patrolling the business district when a couple called in saying that someone was bothering them, so he went to check it out and found someone that I think you would be interested in seeing again..."  
  
Holmes frowned, "All right, all right, just come out and say it all ready!"  
  
"We found Jonathan."  
  
Watson did a double take and stared at Lestrade, "You...you found his body or, do you mean that...?"  
  
"Yes, we found him. Alive."  
  
Watson leapt up excitedly, "You must take me to him! Where is he?"  
  
"The hospital...he is in pretty bad shape, but they think he'll live..."  
  
Watson smiled and followed Lestrade out the door to the cabby, then realized that Holmes was not with them. He ran back up the stairs to the door and stuck his head inside, "Come on Holmes, you are holding us up!"  
  
"I am very happy for you Watson, but I have a lot of work to do and I would rather stay here."  
  
"I know that you want to see Jon too, almost as badly as I do, so you might as well come with us!"  
  
Holmes set down the newspaper he had begun to read in annoyance, "I do not Watson! But...I will come, but only out of pure curiosity of how he survived falling from the dock..."  
  
Watson grinned as Holmes walked briskly past him into he cabby and followed the detective in, and the three made their way to the hospital.  
  
***  
  
Lestrade left them at the front of the hospital saying that he had some business to attend to before noon, and Watson and Holmes made their way through the twisting hallways of the large hospital until they came across the room that the nurse had said Jon was in. Watson entered carefully, then walked quietly over to the cot where Jon was sleeping. As Watson stepped nearer, Jon frowned and slowly opened his eyes, then tried to quickly sit up as he saw who it was.  
  
The doctor bent down and gave Jon a quick hug, who in turn, froze in surprise than blushed a deep scarlet and shrugged Watson gently off. Holmes just pulled up a straight-backed chair and waited patiently for Watson to finish so they could leave.  
  
Jon grinned over at him, "What...I don't get a hug from you?"  
  
Holmes scowled, "...No."  
  
Jon nodded knowingly and turned back to Watson, "So what happened? Did ya catch my dad yet?"  
  
Watson shook his head, "No, he managed to escape again. But I was just about to ask you the same thing! What happened to you after you were shot? Holmes and I thought you were dead!"  
  
"Ya so did I...I think that the river I fell into was still enough that after I went under, I was able to swim upstream a little bit. But I hit some rapids and wasn't able to get any air, so I passed out. When I woke up, I had been washed up onto some riverbank, and so I crawled up it and found myself outside some buildings. I went up to one and fell asleep up against it. In the morning, some lady found me and took me into her house, but her husband called the cops. I was taken to Scotland Yard, and then somehow I ended up here! I'm still haven't figured that part out."  
  
Holmes nodded, "Well, it sounds like you have been busy, but unfortunately, so am I. I am afraid that I need to go now and finish another case. I will meet you outside Watson." The detective stood up and walked over to the door, "Oh, and Jon...if you ever need any more lessons on how to be a decent detective, you know where to find me..."  
  
Jon nodded, "Thanks, I might have ta look into that..."  
  
Holmes left and Watson turned to him, "So, how is your leg?"  
  
Jon lifted up his cover, glanced at it, and showed it to Watson cautiously, "They put some bandages on it, but it still hurts..."  
  
Watson nodded, "Yes. It probably will for a little while longer, but soon, you won't even realize it was ever there. I know from experience."  
  
"It better go away...it's very annoying..."  
  
"Listen Jon, if you ever need a place to go to, our house is always opened to you to spend the night at, no matter what Holmes says."  
  
"All right...thanks..."  
  
Watson nodded again and clapped Jon gently on the shoulder before leaving and following Holmes out the door, closing it softly behind him.  
  
Jon sighed and leaned back against the wall, smiling happily, and for the first time in his life, felt that someone actually cared about him. Someone cared about Jonathan Moriarty. With that thought in mind, he closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep in his warm bed, ready for whatever tomorrow brought to him.  
  
A/N: Yay! Aww, I made it a happy ending! I surprise myself...*ahem* anyways, please review and tell me what you thought of it, this chapter or the whole story. Thanks much! 


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